More Than A Memory
by Jazzmaster
Summary: Chloe becomes increasingly isolated as she investigates a string of suspicious suicides. As Clark tries to reach out to her, he finds he must save her from herself... and from something even he may not be able to overcome.
1. Chapter 1

Chloe Sullivan had developed an interest in suicide. Not her own, though a few people at The Daily Planet had of late begun to notice her withdrawing more and more. Perhaps they believed she suffered from depression. They certainly couldn't understand why a pretty young girl with perfect mental health would spend much of her free time researching those who killed themselves. Chloe didn't blame them for thinking such a thing; couldn't guarantee this 'hobby' wouldn't damage her in the long term.

She'd never told them the interest was not in the suicide itself. The method was irrelevant, she had long since decided. Whether by hanging or bullet or slit wrists (or in one gruesome case she'd found, a slit throat) it didn't really matter. She was coming more and more to the idea that the why wasn't so important either. Often this could not be determined anyway. Not everyone left a note, not every note told the whole story. 'I just can't go on like this anymore' was not terribly specific. And when the reasons were clear, they were often very different from each other.

Not every suicide interested Chloe. The specific ones she was looking had little in common on the surface… apart from having a certain individual involved in them. The man who got them to do it.

He never actually came out and told them to kill themselves as far as she was aware. She'd certainly never found anyone claiming such a thing. Yet she pursued this man (or rather, the story) on the basis that he was responsible for a massive amount of suicides. She'd seen something similar before when Bob Rickman had come to Smallville, but that was nothing like on this scale. Dozens of separate cases where the people involved mentioned a man who had reminded them of some horrible incident in their lives. None of them talked after the fact, of course. A few offered descriptions of him, too vague to be proof, but enough to fuel her own suspicions. The words 'grinning' and 'cheerful' appeared more than once.

"Not drinking your tea?"

"Just letting it cool," said Chloe, who had in fact forgotten it was there. She reckoned her host would have preferred something stronger right about now. Reckoned she might just as well, though she'd be driving back later. It was a two hour drive back to Metropolis from here, but she didn't fancy a hotel. And it wasn't like she was going to be offered a place to sleep here.

Bill was around fifty years old, thin on top, chin having seen only a casual meeting with a razor.

"So there has been a history of suicide in your family?" Chloe asked. A casual tone of voice adopted, as if discussing last nights football game or plans for the weekend. In the rare times she'd come face-to-face with someone who knew about old 'grinning' and 'cheerful' she'd found keeping an emotional distance was useful. She looked at her still full teacup. Bill, or Mr Evert's was by comparison almost empty. The man was fairly gulping the stuff down.

"Not in the immediate. Couple of cousins did. Uncle too, quite a few years back," said Bill. Chloe finally lifted her cup and took a sip. It was still too warm. She didn't understand how Bill hadn't been scalded.

"And people connected to them had committed suicide too?"

This innocent little comment finally stopped Bill pouring tea down his throat. A few seconds later and she'd probably have been responsible for a spit-take.

"Why the hell would you assume that?" he asked. Chloe just shrugged her shoulders.

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

Bill remained silent for a moment. The expression on his face seemed to suggest he had been hit by a real head-scratcher.

"No," Bill sighed at last. "No, I can't say as you are."

Bill shook his head and laughed quietly. "What's your earliest memory?" he asked suddenly. Chloe's eyebrows came together; puzzled by the question, annoyed by the evasion. Her mother's leaving was the first thing that came to her mind. It was certainly one of her strongest early memories, but she supposed there were little bits and pieces before that.

"I don't know. There's no real order to the early ones. When I was ill and my parents looked after me, I guess."

Bill just nodded as if that were exactly the shitty sort of memory he'd expect from someone like Chloe Sullivan.

"Mine's of a grin. A twisted, horrible grin with yellow teeth and dry lips."

Chloe almost leapt out of her chair. As it was she spilled a little tea on her leg. Neither of them seemed to notice.

"You've seen him?"

"Oh yes. Never would have let you in if all I had to go on was someone else's say so. That'd be crazy."

Yup, thought Chloe, who was here entirely on other people's say so, crazy's just what that would be.

"My uncle, he looked after me quite a lot when I was young. My father had to work and my mother died soon after I was born. Not suicide, you understand. She was murdered, stabbed seventeen times on her way home one night, while we lived in Metropolis. Kind of thing most people only ever hear about on the news, and here it was happening before I was even two years old. You want to be careful out there, miss. Still, I suppose you have a boyfriend to protect you?"

Well, there was always Clark, thought Chloe. He might not qualify as a boyfriend, however much she might wish otherwise, but when it came to protection you could always rely on him. When it came to other things, like going out for dinner, not always so much. She smiled, and Bill nodded, realising this was the only response he was going to get. He remained silent for a moment, perhaps considering making himself another cup of tea. Chloe would have offered hers, but she didn't think the offer would be appreciated. It wasn't the sort of thing her father had raised her to do.

"Anyway, my uncle took me along to the supermarket one day. Had me sitting in the shopping cart. He took his attention off me for a bit, busy looking for somethin' he couldn't find I guess. That's when this guy came over."

Chloe interrupted at this point. She'd hoped to avoid asking questions during the story in case Bill clammed up, but she had to ask this one.

"You saw him in public?"

Bill smiled at the disbelief in her voice. On reflection it was not the best way to sound, but Bill didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah. A few times I've almost managed to convince myself it was a dream. It was so long ago, so surreal, and you can't really get a firm grip on reality at that age, you know? Like you said about your early memories not being in order. Out of sequence, like."

Chloe nodded, gestured for him to continue.

"He was grinning right at me. I don't remember what he was wearing, what colour his eyes were, couldn't even swear how tall he was. But I know that grin in every last detail. He didn't even say anything at first. Just started loading up the cart. Our cart, as if it were his own."

"With what?"

Bill stared at her, probably judging whether or not Chloe was going to believe her or jump out of the chair and call him a loon.

"Beef. He just kept on adding huge rumps of beef. Whistling as he did it. No-one else really noticed, or if they did they pretended they didn't. What would they have done if they had? My uncle was totally baffled when he saw the cart afterwards. Started lookin' at me funny, like I'd climbed out of the cart and done it myself."

Bill chuckled at that, though to Chloe it sounded forced.

"He put them all back, of course. No way we could have afforded all that crap. Good thing he noticed before we got to the counter, but he couldn't help but notice, you know?"

"Did your uncle see the other man?"

He gave her an incredulous look, one that was far too honest to come from any stranger raised to be polite. This one conversation had brought them closer together than Chloe had been to most people her entire life. It wouldn't last, of course, but for now there was a definite bond between the two. I must be better at this than I thought, she figured. Should have had Clark spilling his secret years ago.

"Miss, that was no man. Walked and talked like one, but I'll swear on my mother's name that was something else entirely."

"What do you think he was?" she asked, dismissing Clark from her mind. Chasing a story was the only easy way for her to accomplish such a thing.

"Don't know. Some kind of monster, but not like one I've ever read about. To answer your original question, no, my uncle didn't see him. Not then, at any rate. I'll wager he saw him at least once later on. He said something like that himself."

"What did your uncle tell you?" Chloe's mouth was open. She was breathing through it without realising.

"Not my uncle. The monster told me. He told me my uncle was going to kill himself. I forget how he said it would be done; reckon I wouldn't have understood it at the time anyway. But he killed himself, sure enough, on the anniversary of his wife's death."

Chloe reflected on the conversation as she drove back to her apartment in the early evening. They'd talked for a little while after that, but the most significant stuff was over. Most of the rest consisted of snippets, speculation, and pure guesswork. Bill had done most of the talking of course, and with all the care of a drunk man. He'd been sober the whole time as far as Chloe knew, smelling nothing on Bill's breath when they'd shaken hands and said goodbyes. Bill was pleasant enough when she told him she would call if she had anymore questions. She didn't think she would though. Best not to push things any further. Besides, she'd surely gotten everything worth hearing. Like a drunk man who'd said too much, he might not be too happy having sobered up.

The drive back took a lot out of her. The last thing she'd eaten was a quick bite in the morning. Bill had offered to fix something up but she'd declined, wanting to head back as soon as possible. By the time she got back she was feeling tired and a little deflated. Her initial excitement of obtaining more information was replaced by doubts over what this was actually achieving. She'd had to skip a college class in order to make the trip, and all she was doing was researching a story that was unprintable. On her mobile was a message from Clark asking her out to dinner, asking after her, concerned that he hadn't heard from her lately, wanting her to call him back. Too late now, she thought. It was less satisfying than she might have suspected being the one who couldn't make it for a change.

The story was isolating her, she realised. And although she'd tried to keep her distance from the dozens of cases she'd looked into, some of them got to her. Hell, all of them did at one point or another. Even the ones she came to believe had nothing to do with this strange figure at all. She was in too deep now, and this story could likely never come to light. It might be a good idea to bring Clark up to speed. This thing clearly held some terrible power, even if it was just the power of persuasion. Gives me a good excuse to see Clark anyway, she thought, realising she'd missed seeing him lately. Maybe they could schedule that dinner for tomorrow.

For tonight she made do with tossing something into the microwave. She did that a lot these days, in keeping with being a student and all. She shared the apartment with a couple of other students, but she saw little of them at the moment. A note on the fridge told her not to expect them back tonight. Probably because they're out doing something, you know, fun, said a mocking voice in her head.

Just before going to bed she scribbled down some notes in her journal. Not that she expected she was going to forget any of what she'd been told. This was the biggest news she'd gotten in a long time, after weeks of feeling like she was making no progress whatsoever. She lay awake for a long time.

"I could never kill myself," she told the walls of her room.

Just four hours after her enthused reaction to Bill's story, she was weeping.


	2. Chapter 2

It was reassuring for Clark to see his father working on the tractor as he returned home. While a lot of people his age were currently relishing leaving home to begin a new stage of their life at college or in a new job, he was glad still be around his folks. It felt to him at times like these days would never end… and then he realised that they would. Of course they would. That was the whole reason why he was still here now. His father was ill, and deep down Clark knew his life was nearer the end than they beginning. Everyone in The Kent household knew it, though it was never really talked about these days.

"Hey, son. Don't tell me you're finished for the day already? It's only one in the afternoon. Some of us are just getting started!" said Jonathan, who had in fact been up since the early hours. He somehow managed a smile at Clark while never removing his attention from his work. "I guess that's the life of a college kid."

Clark beamed at the pride in his father's voice.

"Well, I'm not quite done yet. I still have a couple of assignments to work on, but I can do that from here. I got plenty to do round the farm too, so don't think I'll be taking it easy."

"Oh, I can take care of most of that. The farm stuff, I mean. You managed to get a hold of Chloe yet? Maybe you could meet up with her this evening."

Clark's smile froze. If this were his mother talking, he'd think she was playing matchmaker. His dad most certainly would not do such a thing… but he might step in if he thought a friendship was in trouble.

"I don't know," said Clark. "I've been trying to get a hold of her, but she doesn't return a lot of my messages. And when she does, she always seems to be busy."

"She does have a lot on her plate right now, Clark. That young girl has a bright future ahead of her, but she's going to have to work hard to get it. Not many people her age get opportunities at the Daily Planet, and for all my cracks about college students, some of them have to work pretty hard."

"But not me, right?" said Clark, rolling his eyes.

"Well, it's true not everyone can read a textbook as fast as you can… but no-ones ever accused a Kent of slacking a day in their lives, and they're certainly not going to start with you."

"So you're saying I should back off, give her some space?" said Clark doubtfully. He'd hardly seen her at all the past few weeks. He'd begun to realise just how much he'd taken her for granted over the past year or so. She'd been there every time he needed her. She'd been very caring… but he supposed it must not always have been much fun for her. Especially the number of times he'd talked to her about Lana, he thought, recalling how much he used to hate Lana talking about Whitney.

Jonathan patted the tractor and took a step back, turning to his son. For an absurd moment Clark had a clear image of his father telling him 'You know son, a girl is just like a tractor…'

"Have you considered that Chloe might be seeing someone?" he said instead, removing his well-worn brown gloves.

"She hasn't said anything. She's not really the…" Clark stopped mid-sentence, realising he'd almost said 'She's not really the dating type'. It was true Chloe hadn't had a boyfriend in some time, but it wasn't like she wasn't interested in guys. "I just never really thought about it."

"Not many people go through college alone, you know. I mean…damn, I'm sorry Clark. I wasn't thinking, after all that happened between you and Lana."

"No, dad, it's fine. You're right, she shouldn't be alone. Chloe's a great person. Who wouldn't want to be with her?" he said. He mumbled the last part as if he were almost speaking to himself. A few weeks before Chloe dropped out of sight, she'd kissed him. They'd just been goofing around one night at her apartment, she'd had a little too much to drink (to which he had pointed out a polite objection and left it at that) and then they'd kissed. Chloe had initiated it, but he hadn't exactly put a stop to it. He realised he should have done so at once. He'd just been feeling lonely. It was a great kiss, but he couldn't mistake his friendship for Chloe for something more again. He couldn't keep hurting her like that any more than he could have kept hurting Lana by protecting his secret.

"You know I'm happy to talk about this any time, but this is one of those things a father and son talk isn't going to solve. Ask her to dinner. See if you can't work this thing out."

Clark nodded; his father was right, of course. He was probably getting this thing all out of proportion anyway. He'd take Chloe out to dinner, let her know how much she meant to him, and let her know he understood if she needed some space. Jonathan leant against the wall, looking off into the horizon while Clark called Chloe on her cell phone.

"Clark? Hi!" chirped Chloe as she picked up. Clark couldn't help but notice something forced about her enthusiasm, but he put it to one side.

"Good to hear your voice again Chloe," he said.

"Yeah… yours too. Uh, I can't talk for long though. I'm just heading back from lunch."

"Oh, that's okay. I really just wanted to ask you to dinner tonight. I can run right over to Metropolis anytime that suits you. Your choice where we go."

"I'd like to Clark, really, but actually I've already made plans for tonight. I'm going out with this guy from the Planet. Not on a date or anything, you understand."

"All right," said Clark, trying to hide the disappointment from his voice. "I just wanted to spend some time with you is all. Are things all right between us?"

"Of course they are. But, um, now I really got to go. We'll meet up soon, I promise."

Clark tried to protest, but wasn't fast enough to stop her from hanging up. He supposed he could have dashed all the way over to Metropolis and physically stopped her, but that seemed a little extreme. Jonathan was trying to look disinterested.

"Yeah, she can't make it. Again," said Clark, before realising he was sulking. It was time he grew out of that sort of thing. He forced a smile, but his father seemed sympathetic.

"You know son, just because you can go anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye doesn't mean they'll always be someone waiting for you at the other end," he said quietly.

It was going to be a long night, Chloe reasoned as she turned her attention back to her laptop. Sean was still talking with some guys at the bar. The conversation was mostly sports-related, largely excluding her from taking part. They hadn't seemed to appreciate her smart-assed remarks all that much either. She never should have let Sean talk her into coming here. "I feel I need to get to know you better, as a colleague," he'd told her. So far that had involved clumsily flirting with her followed by ignoring her completely after she failed to respond. Her phone lay next to her on the table. She looked at it longingly, hoping Clark might call if she just willed it to happen. Hey Chloe, I just wanted to see if you changed your mind about dinner. Well, just fancy Clark, turns out I'm available after all!

She'd only agreed to this thing in the first place because she was scared of how withdrawn she'd become. Now she was out in a place crowded with people feeling just as alone as before. Sean had proven as reliable as Clark… but as least Clark always had a good reason for leaving her. And now he was doing exactly the opposite, reaching out to her, wanting to see her.

Clark only reaches out to people who need saving Chloe, came a voice in her head. Sighing, she locked the screen on her laptop so no-one could access it then walked over to Sean.

"Could you watch my laptop for a moment? I need to go to the bathroom," she said. Sean nodded, seemingly embarrassed.

The mirror in the bathroom told a story she did not care to investigate, even if it could have made the front page of the Daily Planet. The girl looking at her was too thin, the skin on her face hanging just a little slack. The skin around her eyes was puffy and swollen. Her mouth looked miserable, and when she attempted a smile that would surely win even Clark Kent over, it completely failed to reach her eyes. It was a story about a girl who no longer took care of herself and no longer knew how to try.

When she returned to her table, she noticed immediately that the screensaver had come onto her laptop. Which was fine in itself, but it wasn't the screensaver she had set. Instead a line of text scrolled across the screen, red letters against a black background.

THE WALL OF WEIRD IS GONE, CHLOE.

She looked up at Sean, expecting him to be grinning at her, but his back was still to her. Then the text disappeared before being replaced with another line.

I KNOW HIS SECRET.

And another.

THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING.

YOU ARE AS CLOSE TO ME AS YOU EVER WANT TO GET.


	3. Chapter 3

On the outskirts of Smallville, a thirty year old man sat alone in his living room and wept for his lost wife and child. It was a year to the day since they both died, though his wife was lost before that. Perhaps long before – he'd never quite managed to pinpoint the beginning of her descent into madness.

A photo album lay across his lap, open at a collection of photos of the child. Meeting her grandparents for the first time, sitting on her mother's knee, having a bath in the sink. That was something she hadn't quite lived long enough to outgrow.

Every day since their deaths had been painful, so it seemed odd that today was particularly bad. But today was an event, a marking that couldn't be ignored. He remembered back to the millennium celebrations. Sarah had wanted to make a big deal out of it, but Joe'd thought it stupid because it was just a marking of time…

Any excuse for a celebration, eh?

There was a knocking on the door and that reminded of him of that day exactly a year ago because he'd had to let Sheriff Adams in and…

They weren't going away. The police were here again and they were going to come in and find them both again. He'd tell them he hadn't known who to call, because ambulance men couldn't save infants who'd been suffocated or women who'd slashed their throats. No, there had been no 'cure' for those things a year ago and wasn't now.

"Anybody home?" shouted the knocker. If there was, they'd have answered by now, thought Joe, turning the page of his photo album. His family's photo album, he corrected himself.

There was a noise at the window and Joe dropped the album with the fright it gave him. The knocker had become the tapper, tapping at the window and grinning at him.

"Hey Joe – let me in, would ya?" the tapper shouted. Joe could swear he recognised the face – and the tapper knew his name, after all – but couldn't quite place it. Three voices spoke up in his mind almost at once.

He's the knocker. He's the tapper. He's the shouter.

Joe tried to call out, to tell the shouter to leave him alone. No visitors today. Not today. The words got trapped in his throat the first time. He tried again.

"Go away," he called, his hands making fists and tears rolling down his cheeks. The shouter raised his hands in mock surrender then vanished from the window. Joe breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he feared the man was just going to remain outside forever; knocking, tapping and shouting for all time.

A voice spoke up in his head - nowhere for it to get trapped up there. Maybe he's gone round the back. Maybe he'll start knocking on the back door, tapping on the kitchen window and premiering Shouter 2: The Return of The Shouter. He got out of the chair for the first time in hours to check.

There was no sign of him at the kitchen window. No sign of anyone at all. He decided he'd better check to see if the kitchen door was locked. He was always forgetting that – there were no one year markings of the last time he'd left the door unlocked. He tried the handle and found that this time it was locked after all.

"No use having a door locked if someone's already inside," someone shouted from the living room. The Shouter. But how had he gotten in? Had he left the front door unlocked? He couldn't remember ever having done that before, though one time was all it took.

Joe walked back into the living room and there indeed was The Shouter, lying up on the couch. He wore a long black trench coat and dark denims underneath that. A pair of white trainers ruined the look much like they were presently ruining Joe's couch. Shouter looked to be in his fifties and his hair was a dark shade of grey. In his large hands was the photo album. Shouter was flicking through it, a look of delight on his face.

"H-how did you get in here?" asked Joe. He almost added 'Shouter' to the question. Shouter looked up from the album and raised his eyebrows, a look of childlike innocence on his face.

"You know what my parents used to tell me about Santa Claus? Of course not, anyway, there was no chimney at our house. So I asked 'em, I asked 'em how Santa got in. 'Cause everyone knows he comes down the chimney, right? My dad tells me he has a magic key, one that lets him into any little boy or girl's house. But my mom, she tells me he just walks through the walls like a ghost, with ghost presents that somehow become solid by morning," said Shouter without shouting. From his pocket he pulled a tiny key and chuckled. "Since Santy didn't need his key, I borrowed it."

Joe felt dizzy. Shouter's voice, now that he was no longer shouting, seemed to be coming from some very far away place. He's not really here, thought Joe. I finally went crazy.

"Who are you?" he asked, wobbling on his feet. Shouter grinned, apparently amused by the question. He put the photo album down now, took his feet off the sofa and stood up, arms outstretched. For a moment, Joe thought that Shouter was going to hug him.

"I get asked that a lot, Joe Blow. The unspoken answer is just a little bit different for everybody, but the answer I give 'em is always the same: I am The Memento."

Joe was about to ask what kind of name that was when he heard crying from the kitchen. He really did almost collapse now, but The Sh… Memento was across the room with heavenly speed and caught him.

"Aren't you going to see to that?" Memento asked, nodding towards the kitchen. He brushed some invisible dust from Joe's shoulder and led him down the hall. In the kitchen was a pram. In the pram was his daughter Amy, alive and crying. Memento gave her a tiny wave and a large smile.

Joe knew this couldn't be real, but the need to throw up certainly felt real. He almost did, but he had no mouth anymore, not even lips. He could feel the vomit in his mouth, unable to get out. He began to choke on it.

The Memento picked up the child, his lovely dead daughter who was impossibly alive, and walked over to a large pot of boiling water. Joe couldn't remember putting it on, but by now he'd learned that his memory wasn't what it used to be.

"Just here to remind you, old buddy," said Memento. Joe's throat was wobbling up and down uncontrollably.

And, although taking the lid off the pot and dumping his precious child into the boiling water was nothing like the suffocation, he was reminded. Memento replaced the lid. Amy fitted perfectly.

Then Joe had a mouth again, and he threw up over the kitchen floor. A lot of it ended up on his shoes. He began coughing, struggling to breathe. Tears also struck his shoes. Memento was over beside him now, patting his shoulder comfortingly. Joe screamed and swung at him, but his fist went right through his head. Impossible – he'd felt his touch just a moment before.

"I have to go, Joe. Don't worry though – I'll be back same time next year. And the year after that. And the year after that. Just to remind you. In fact, since I know you're not big on anniversaries, I think I'd better stop by every day," said Memento, his face filled with sympathy. Joe was sobbing uncontrollably now. "I'm gonna be real busy soon, but don't worry – I'll make the time."

He grabbed Joe's face in his hands, pushing his lips up into a very forced smile. "Cause I think some things just simply should not be forgotten – they should be truly remembered."

Memento gave Joe a thumbs up, left him standing in a daze and went through to the living room. He came back with the photo album, holding it up for Joe to see.

"I'm just gonna take this with me. I don't think you're going to be needing it much anymore, good buddy. I'll leave you with something in return though, don't you worry about that," said Memento.

He left behind a single piece of rope. Joe hung himself with it before the end of the day.

Die in darkness.

Chloe was alone; she had fallen. Scraped her knees, not that it mattered. She wasn't a kid anymore and even then she'd cried more over the concern and kindness her father showed her than any real pain.

Die alone.

She was running, trying to escape a mad voice that travelled with the wind. With the darkness. With her. It was not a voice she seemed to hear with her ears; it was just there. Always there.

Die screaming.

Clark would make it stop, make it go away. Silence it. But he would not find her in time, and she could not find him in the darkness. She did not slow down, even when her heart felt like bursting. There were noises out there far worse than the voice. There were monsters out there.

Die fallen.

Except there weren't; she was dreaming. She knew that. Right now that knowledge only comforted her up to a certain point, but she knew it as fact.

Die! Die! Die!

That voice – or rather, whoever it belonged to – was crazy. There was a childlike quality to it too. She thought she heard it giggling. No, I dreamed I thought I heard it giggling, she thought.

Wake up.

She didn't, but the dream ended, replaced by another. She dreamt she had a choice. The options lay in front of her, the outcome out of her hands. There was a noose, a knife and a gun. There was smoke and there was fire. There was a climb followed by a drop. A bottle sat on a table, only a skull and crossbones on the label. Next to it lay a large heap of unidentified pills. A card in front of them read 'Try one! Try a whole batch!" A mountain of cigarettes. A Vat of booze.

Something coming through the letterbox. She groaned and opened her eyes. There was no reason to get out of bed now other than to see what it was. Actually, she also needed to pee.

She knew the message on her laptop was no joke, and was in no doubt that the sender was the 'man' she'd been investigating. No-one in the bar had seen anything, or so they claimed. Had he been there all the time, watching her? This was too dangerous for her to handle, she realised. It might even be too dangerous for Clark.

Could she just walk away? She was horrified by what was happening to her. It was in danger of destroying her completely. She needed to start attending her classes again, to regain the organisation her life had before this craziness had become an obsession. She needed an order to her day that investigating bizarre supernatural beings did not provide.

A card was lying on the floor. She picked it up, opened it, and realised how much she loved Clark Kent.

It was an open-ended invitation to dinner, to be used whenever she felt like it.


	4. Chapter 4

"You can't blame yourself, sweetheart," said Jonathan, gently pulling his wife away from the oven. The kitchen table was only set for two this evening, but any hopes of a romantic evening between the two had been dashed by news of Joe's death. The Kent's had known Joe and his family only vaguely, yet the whole town would surely feel the impact of his suicide. It was another tragedy in a town that seemed increasingly to be cursed.

"I should have gone over there, today of all days. That poor man, having to endure that all alone. I remember going over after his wife killed herself and her poor baby… but I just didn't know what to say," she said, even as Jonathan soothed her.

"I know. I still remember how proud he was the day his daughter was born. He looked so happy. They both did, he and his wife. Both looked just as happy as we did the day we adopted Clark."

"But it didn't last, Jonathan," whispered Martha. Before he could say anything else both of them heard a car fast approaching. Breaking off from his wife with a reassuring glance back at her, Jonathan took a peek out of the window.

"Hey, it's Chloe," said Jonathan, managing a small smile. "She made it."

"Clark's been looking forward to this all day. Maybe things are all right between them after all."

"Maybe," said Jonathan, frowning. He loved his son dearly, and it broke his already burdened heart to see his secret alienate him from so many people. It had completely destroyed his once solid friendship with Lex and finally ended things between Lana and him forever. It had also put a terrible strain on the friendship of Clark and Pete, ultimately causing Pete to leave Smallville. Clark had tried so hard to keep in touch with Pete after he left, but Pete always kept an emotional distance from him now.

Jonathan had always believed deep down that the same would happen between Clark and Chloe sooner or later. He saw Chloe getting out of the car. From this distance he couldn't quite tell what it was, but something about her bothered him. He wasn't sure she looked all that well… or perhaps she just looked upset about something. He had a pretty good idea what that would be, too. Right about then he had to suppress the urge to run out and grab her by the shoulders, to tell her that he wasn't going to be around much longer and his son needed people like her.

No, he corrected himself – he needed her. But he knew he wasn't going to tell her that, now or ever. It simply wasn't fair to put that kind of burden on her. How or if she continued to support Clark was entirely up to her.

Clark's initial reaction to Chloe's arrival was embarrassment.

"I wasn't quite expecting you this early," he said, using his speed to change into his dinner jacket and pants. Chloe frowned; he surely would have been almost nude in front of her at some point, but he'd moved so fast it hadn't registered. Clark's eyes widened when he got his first good look at Chloe. She looked away, waiting for some comment about how thin she was or how terrible she looked.

"Uh… I was kind of expecting you to dress a little more formally," he stammered, noting Chloe's jeans and tight white t-shirt.

"I didn't think your barn had a dress code, Clark," said Chloe, pulling up a chair and smiling mischievously.

"Yeah, but I figured I'd take you out and…"

"I'd rather stay in, if you don't mind," said Chloe, lowering her eyes. "I kind of have something I need to talk to you about."

It wasn't until then that Clark did begin to notice that something wasn't right about Chloe. At first he'd just figured she was exhausted – and she probably was too – but looking closer he knew it was more than that.

"I don't mind," said Clark softly, putting his arm around Chloe in much the way his father would when comforting his mother. Not that he knew this of course, and would have been embarrassed if he did. He'd already put down a deposit on the table, but he really couldn't care less about the money. "What is it?"

She pushed him away, chewing her bottom lip for a moment.

"Mind if it waits a little bit? I'd really like to just have dinner with my friend first. I've missed that."

"But you promise to tell me after that?"

"I promise, Clark."

Clark spread his hands wide.

"Dinner it is then. Though I have to say, even with all my powers I think I'm going to struggle to fix something up. And I can't ask mom to fix us up anything. She's been upset all day, what with the suicide up at…"

"Suicide?" asked Chloe, horror appearing in her eyes.

"Chloe, what…"

She waved the question aside, blinking the horror out of her eyes much as she would tears.

"Later. Dinner first. And I want to hear what the hero of Smallville's been up to without his reporter friend to help him out. We won't need your mom to fix us up anything – and I wouldn't eat anything you made, no offence – since you're going to use your super powers to run out and bring me back whatever I want."

"Am I now?" asked Clark, managing a smile. He was concerned over what Chloe wanted to talk to him about, but more than happy to put it aside for now. He'd been missing her terribly, and still he hadn't realised how much until she'd shown up. "So what takes Madame's fancy this evening? Everything in the world's on the menu…"

There was a room. It's occupant did not know exactly where it's location might be. He did not know how long he was going to remain here. He did not remember how he got there.

There was no other. The man had seen no-one since his arrival. Yet he had heard someone – perhaps more than someone – outside the door. They made no attempt to communicate with him or enter the room. He had called to them but received no response.

He is a prisoner. The door will not open. The door will not budge, even when he throws his weight against it. This happened quite a few times before he gave up.

The room was virtually empty. Only one single item of furniture was provided for him: a single hardback chair. He found himself making use of it more and more in his recent imprisoned hours. Earlier he'd preferred pacing back and forth at the door, either pounding it or quietly listening for any sounds outside it. There was no letterbox to aid him in this endeavour, nor was there a peephole to show him what lay outside. As far as he could tell no-one remains out there for long; merely passing by on their way elsewhere. More than once he had heard a man whistling cheerfully out there. His captor, he assumed. At least he knew it was a man. For a man like him it was a useful enough distinction.

No windows. Not even any paint on the walls, he ruminated, running his hand through his facial hair. It looked as though it had all been stripped away. There were only two items in the room save for the chair that were not on his person: a plant and a nametag. He had no idea who placed the plant in the room, but the nametag was dropped on the floor by him. It had, at some point between his leaving his home and arriving here, gotten pinned onto his jacket. The name on it was Lionel Luthor. His own name, if not his own nametag. To Lionel it looked like something a store employee would wear. He was not such an employee. As for the plant, it was of little interest to him. There was no key under the pot and even had there been there was no keyhole in the door in which to use it.

Lionel was not entirely unused to being kidnapped, but he was already realising this was an unusual case. The distressing silence of the room was broken only by his own breathing and an occasional clearing of the throat. His throat felt rather dry, and why shouldn't it? He hadn't had a drink of anything in some time. Yet the need for drink or food wasn't what he would have expected it to be by this point. He had tried to come up with an explanation but soon given up. He'd seen plenty of weird things in recent years, but for now he simply did not have enough information to go on.

There was another sound. Lionel picked up on this at once, leaping to his feet and striding to the door. He pressed his ear up against it.

"Who's there?" he bellowed. There was no answer. The footsteps grew closer and Lionel sighed in the sure knowledge that his captor was going to stroll on by once again. Incredibly, he could hear the man singing. He was quite terrible but the man clearly didn't care. He sounded like he was having a swell old time out there.

"I need water. Or perhaps you plan to have me die in here?" asked Lionel.

And the singing abruptly stopped, a note dying in the crooners throat. He had also stopped walking; by Lionel's reckoning right outside the door.

"Oh no. You don't need water. You can go without water for a very long time in there, old chum. Anywhere at all in this place in fact. I can't remember the last time liquid touched my lips in here. Memory seems to be my problem, actually."

The voice sounded quite old, yet with a merry quality to it, almost offering a feeling of youth as well.

"Who are you?" asked Lionel.

"Not even liquor. I swear it on my mothers name," said the man outside, ignoring the question.

"What do you want with me?" Raising his voice now; clenching his fists. At the next question he would likely be thrusting them against the door.

"Step away from the door, Lionel. I'm a-coming in, and I really don't want any trouble from you. Don't want you bashing that plant pot against my noggin' or nuthin'!"

Lionel pushed his ear off the door and took a half-step back.

"Oh no, my friend, that's no good. That won't do. Go sit on the chair. Only then will I come in."

Lionel's face managed a snarl, though he'd have been surprised to see it there, preferring to think of himself as composed. When he turned around he found the chair was gone. In it's place was a chair. Trouble was, this was a chair exactly like one from the Luthor Mansion. His mouth froze in an 'o' shape.

"I suggest you hurry, Lionel, or shall I leave you again?"

Lionel had no idea how this chair had suddenly gotten there or how this man was seeing all this. However, none of this mattered when the man was teasing leaving him here again. Lionel backed away, keeping his eyes on the door as though expecting it to come flying off it's hinges at a moment's notice.

Instead it crept open slowly, a hand appearing in the crack before Lionel had even finished seating himself. As the man entered Lionel noticed something from the corner of his eye. A picture of his son Lex had appeared on the wall. It had come from out of nowhere.

The man closed the door behind him and leant his own frame against it. As he had been distracted by the picture (which even now appeared to be staring accusingly at him) he had failed to see what lay behind the door. His apparent kidnapper looked to be passing through middle-age. His cheerfulness did however give him a sense of vitality. He was wearing a black bathrobe, beneath which appeared to be his pajamas. It would have been comical under other circumstances. His nose was slightly too large for the man to be called handsome, but his eyes gleamed brilliantly. This was one happy fellow, thought Lionel grimly. The man's hair was greying, not that this appeared to be spoiling the party.

"No-one kidnaps Lionel Luthor without wanting something. What is it you want?" he asked again. The man was clearly insane and he knew he held some sort of power. Lionel knew too well that the situation was dangerous.

"You're fulfilling your part of an old agreement. As it turns out, you don't remember what that was. Now, my memories not what it used to be either partner, but I didn't go forgetting our deal, did I?" he asked, sounding as annoyed as he previously had amused.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No sir, I didn't forget. I'm offended, Lionel. Horrified, in fact. How could you forget me after all I did for you?"

Lionel blinked. He was genuinely stunned that somehow this bastard was trying to turn things around on him.

"How are you doing all this?" he asked.

"I would strongly suggest you stop letting thoughts of that armchair dominate your mind," the man said quietly. Lionel made to stand up then took a minute to regain his composure. He wasn't sure he had the strength to take down the man… and even if he could, the door was shut. Unless this man had been foolish enough to trap them both in here (which he considered was quite possible) only he could get them out.

"As you wish. Shall we get to business then, Mr… forgive me, what should I call you?" asked Lionel with a sudden cheerfulness that rivalled the strangers own.

The man on the door grinned again and wagged a finger at him.

"You should know. All of you should," he said. Then in a lower voice, as if confiding in Lionel, added "That's what took me so long to get to you, you see."

Lionel frowned slightly at this. Exactly how many prisoners did this man have?

"Really?" he finally managed.

"Certainly so. Regardless, you should address me as The Memento." The Memento bit on his lower lip, looking puzzled for a brief moment. "Or perhaps Memento would be more correct when addressing me personally."

Lionel just nodded as if acknowledging that this was quite right.

"And you said we had some sort of agreement? I find it hard to believe that I would forget you, sir. You have rather a… well, there is a certain presence to you," Lionel said mildly. "Not to mention your rather distinctive name."

"I wasn't going by that name then, as it happens. Didn't even look like this, not at all."

"Then how could I be expected to remember you?" asked Lionel, indulging the lunatic.

"I just thought… I rather assumed you would just know. Everyone always has before. Until now. Still, it should come to you eventually. It did with the others, at least. I'm good at drawing memories out, you see. Was good anyway. That gift seems to be failing a little now… but it will come. Like the armchair, or that picture of your dear son. In time I could even fetch every stone of the Luthor Mansion, much like you had them brought over from Scotland. But hopefully we won't be here quite that long."

Lionel considered this for a moment and as he did he noticed a fireplace slowly fade into view on one of the walls. The Memento beamed magnificently as it arrived. He was even more pleased when a radio arrived.

"There now… we'll be able to listen to some music while we wait." And he sat there on the floor with his legs crossed, and they both waited.

As it happened, much to Lionel surprise, in time he did remember. Then he realised with some horror what The Memento actually was.

"See? I told you it would come. Though had I arrived much later, perhaps we'd be waiting here forever. And now I think we should talk quickly, before I have a chance to forget much more. So listen to what I tell you… and don't forget."

The Memento gave his largest smile yet, revealing savage canine teeth and an unnatural amount of saliva.

"Let's talk about Chloe Sullivan, shall we?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chloe had expected to have to put on a bit of an act through dinner, but she was surprised to find herself getting quite comfortable in Clark's company. She could tell he was gently pressing her for information, though he never tried to force anything from her. It reminded her a little of when she'd found out Clark's secret. She'd tried to encourage him to be open with her while never trying to force the issue.

They mostly talked about him as they ate; his concerns about his father, how college was going, what the latest news on Pete was.

"You know, you're rather surprising me Clark," she said with her mouth half full of Chinese food, making Clark think of her cousin Lois for just a moment.

"How's that?" he asked, smiling softly.

"You haven't brought up Lana all evening. Have you seen her around lately?"

"Not so much," said Clark, suddenly inspecting the floor. "I didn't ask you round here to talk about her. In fact, I didn't ask you round here to talk about myself non-stop either. I think I've done that enough times since you found out my secret."

They fell into silence after that, Chloe taking the time to consider how best to tell Clark about her recent problems… and exactly how much to tell him. If she laid it on too thick, she knew he would get all overprotective of her. Clark, meanwhile, seemed content to wait patiently for her to open up to him. She knew he blamed himself for the distance that had come between them recently. Probably the best starting point was to make it clear that this was entirely down to her.

Before she could do this, however, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. She saw she had a new text message, but didn't recognise the number. Her eyes widened as she read what was on the screen.

'Telling him won't do you any good, you know. I told you to leave me be, and now it's too late. Your fate is about to be determined…'

"What is it Chloe?" asked Clark, leaning forward, concern in his voice. She handed him the phone and he frowned as he read the message.

"Hey, Chloe! Haven't heard from you in awhile. Everything all right? Do you have any plans for the weekend? Maybe we can catch up?" he read aloud. "This is from Lana."

"What? No, Clark, there was a different message… I…"

"Slow down," said Clark, taking her by the arm. "Tell me what's going on. It isn't just me you've pulled away from, is it? It'll be all right, whatever it is. I can't help you if you won't open up to me."

Telling him won't do any good, you know, thought Chloe numbly. I've been following something more terrible than I could ever have dreamed of.

"It's too late," she said, barely even realising she'd spoken aloud.

"No, it isn't. It's never too late. Chloe, after Alicia died I was so alone. I thought that no-one else would ever know what I really am. But you did, and you were there for me whenever I needed you. I haven't been alone since then. Don't shut me out, please. You never have to keep anything from me."

She hadn't put on an act through dinner and now it was too late to start. She began to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks, and Clark held her head to his chest. He couldn't help but feel he'd let her down over the past few weeks. All this time he'd thought this had all been about him. He said nothing, just let her get it all out. He felt her pain. Even though he didn't know what had led her to this, he knew she was feeling a powerful loneliness. He knew how hard it could be to carry some burdens all by yourself. And the longer you did, the harder it became to talk to someone else about them.

When she finally pulled away he found he was still reaching out to her, as if he couldn't bear to let her go. She looked at him then in a way that was entirely unexpected, with a resolve he would rarely expect to see in someone who'd just broken down in front of him. Good, he thought. She hasn't given up, she's going to fight this.

"I'm sorry Clark," she said. "This is something I have to do on my own."

"That's not true…"

"It is. Believe me," she said in a voice that offered no room for argument. She turned away from him, heading down the steps out of the barn. He walked after her quickly.

"Don't do this. You're not thinking straight."

"Don't try to stop me. We both know you can, but not without using your powers. And if you ever use them against me, you know this friendship is over," she said. Clark stopped, hurt at the way Chloe was behaving, rejecting his attempts to help. She stopped at the door and turned to face him. For a moment he thought she had finally come to her senses, but the way she looked at him pained his heart.

"I love you Clark. Remember that," said Chloe, and left, suspecting she would never see him again.

Stephanie could see The Memento was holding a box. She had no idea where he might have been for the past few hours (or minutes?) though she believed she'd heard him outside her room a few times. Unlike the one Lionel had until recently inhabited this one was almost completely furnished. The walls were painted a wonderful sky blue which still did not fail to entice her. Only a small patch in the bottom right corner differed: the wallpaper looked to have been stripped away here (it never occurred to Stephanie that it might never have been there at all). She was sitting on her husband's chair: it offered feelings of comfort even as it indicated his absence. Though she knew right now that absence was for the best. She had kept no secrets from him (well… nothing important surely) or so she once thought. As it turned out there was something left out between them. She just hadn't remembered what it was – until now.

"What's inside?" she asked, as The Memento made to take the lid off. He stopped as he heard her, as if she'd just yelled at him to cease what he was doing, drop it and back away slowly. Then he smiled magnificently at her.

"This box contains my most treasured memories," he told her with a wink. Stephanie nodded at it.

"It's not very large."

"No," he agreed, setting it down on the floor. Stephanie tried to resist the urge to move away from it. She could swear she could hear voices coming from inside.

"Don't open it," she gasped suddenly. She found she could not stop herself from looking at it.

"I won't, so long as you don't open your bowels, Stephanie. Now please, you have nothing to fear from the contents of this box," he said with a hint of impatience.

"No?"

"No, but perhaps I do," he said. The voices from the box made his own seem very quiet somehow. She tore her eyes away from it and looked at The Memento. This was not much of an improvement. She noticed the flesh around his eyes was blood red.

"What do you mean?"

His eyes twinkled mischievously at her.

"I don't know." Then after a pause, "I'm going to let you go now Steph."

There was only one thing she could think of to say to this.

"Really?"

"Truly. You're going to take this box with you."

"No…"

"Oh yes. Be sure to take the utmost care of it, Steph. And best you don't take the lid off. It will try to get you to do so, but I have faith in both your willpower and your fear."

"I can't…"

"If you refuse to take it there will be trouble, I warn you. Right now it may not seem like it, but I am only passively affecting your life. Refuse, and I will take a more active interest."

"Please don't…"

"The memories of your living room are not the only ones I can draw from."

Stephanie sat quietly for a moment. She didn't think refusing this 'man' would get her very far. Not in a positive direction, at any rate.

"Alright," she said at last.

"Good. Then it's settled."

He snatched the box up and, startling her, threw it towards her. She was sure she would be unable to catch it successfully, but she did. The lid threatened to slip off. She placed it back quickly. For now at least, the voices seemed to have stopped. She hoped this would last until it was time to return it.

It was sheer disbelief that kept Chloe from waking up at six in the morning. There was just no way that was the phone she heard ringing, not at this hour. Since she was not really awake she could not see a clock, but her body was happy to tell her it was early. Far too early to be hearing (let alone answering) the phone; she must clearly be dreaming it.

When it started ringing again, some part of her gave in and woke her up. She'd have to go to college soon anyway, if she still had a place there to go back to. With a feeling of dread growing inside her she wondered if this was them now, asking where she'd been before they kicked her off the course. But it was too early for that surely.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Miss Sullivan. I wasn't sure if I'd find you here. You and your roommates don't appear to spend a great deal of time there."

Chloe recognised the voice at once, of course. It was a voice that had tempted her, manipulated her and threatened her over the years. It was the distinctive voice of Lionel Luthor.

"Mr Luthor?" she asked, puzzled and a little nervous. Lionel had appeared to change a little since his time in prison, although his motives were still difficult to figure out.

"Allow me to get right to the point. I managed to read the article you wrote on the suicides. Your writing had come quite a long way, if I say so myself. It was the content itself that appealed to me though. Quite fascinating."

Chloe's heart was pounding; her chest was tightening.

"That article was never published." More than that, only one copy existed… and that was on her own computer.

"I know," said Lionel regretfully. Chloe looked to the door. She hadn't noticed any sign of a break-in when she'd gotten back from Clark's. No obvious sign, anyway. She hadn't been looking for the non-obvious ones. Of course, Lionel Luthor wouldn't leave any…

"You broke into my apartment?"

It sounded as if Lionel puffed out his cheeks then let the air out in an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm afraid so. I needed to see if I'd be wasting my time contacting you. I've seen that it's not, though you're still not as knowledgeable as is ideal."

Thoughts of the break-in quickly faded from Chloe's mind. Lionel knew something about the man she'd been investigating. Careful Chloe, she thought, Lionel probably sits down and drinks tea with him.

"It's rather an old article," said Chloe slowly.

"Yes. I did also find your journal, though I didn't have much time to look through it. And I thought it rather rude just to take it."

Chloe, absurdly, found herself blushing. Her journal contained more than just information about the mysterious figure – it contained things that were personal, damn it. Fortunately she'd had the sense not to write anything about Clark in it. Or at least, not about Clark's secret. Her feelings for Clark were made quite plain, repeatedly. It was no real news to Lionel though; hadn't he used that very knowledge against her in the past? She noted absently that he would have seen the dishes from two days ago still laying by the sink. Just one of many student privileges.

"I've noticed you never address this interesting fellow by name," Lionel continued.

"I'm not even sure it has one."

"Oh, it does. I don't know if this is it's true name, but it likes to call itself 'The Memento'."

Chloe almost dropped the phone.

"What?" she asked, though she'd heard perfectly. "You haven't… you wouldn't happen to have met him, would you?"

A brief pause on the other end. "I've had the pleasure."

"Look, I have some questions I'd like to ask you…" Chloe suppressed a small shiver. Lionel Luthor had given plenty of interviews in his time, but she doubted he'd ever been asked questions quite like the ones she had in mind. If she ever submitted it to The Daily Planet, it would probably be given the headline 'Luthor loses marbles'.

"And I you. I'd like to do this in person, if possible? This morning? Or do you have a class?"

Lionel surely couldn't have read some of her more recent journal entries too closely. That or he kept the fact that he knew she'd been skipping them to himself.

"No, that's not a problem. When and where?"

"The Chambers Hotel, on the other side of town. Just come as soon as possible. Do you know how to find it?"

"Yes, no problem. I'll be there shortly."

She terminated the call and fetched her jacket from the closet. Pausing for a moment, she considered how Lionel had come to know about her interest in the first place. How could he have known? And did he now know just how deep her need for information was? 'The Memento' had warned her to stay away, and now here was Lionel trying to pull her in deeper than ever. Had he been looking for something about Clark, and now found something else of interest? Or was she walking into a trap?


	6. Chapter 6

For someone who's business largely involved pain and suffering, The Memento was always surprisingly happy. And why shouldn't he be? It was his time now, time for him to become much more than he was. He lay against a wall right across from Atlantis, a Metropolis nightclub that's doors would remain open for a few hours yet. The night was still young. He was smoking a cigarette and running his hand through his grey hair.

"Hey, Johnson, how you doing?" asked The Memento, striding forward and skipping the queue entirely. The doorman didn't recognise the old man, but that wasn't unusual. The guy looked like he might have gotten into some mischief in his time, but looked harmless enough. He never even considered stopping him and never thought later why he should have.

Memento took a standing position at the bar, ordering himself a vodka and coke. He turned to get a look at the floor. Not too crowded – the owner was perhaps neglecting their business. Plenty of women though, gorgeous women, drunk women, stoned women. They were a sad bunch that visited this place. Most of them just wanted to forget… and sometimes, he reflected, that's what we all wanted to do.

Most of the dancing was lifeless but one girl caught his eye. He flashed her a winning smile and raised his drink to her. This body he wore now was older than the others; strange that women found this form most attractive. But then again, he was moving out of the background now, and his joy could be infectious. Not that you'd catch it for long. It was only ever a matter of time before their bad memories overwhelmed their present. It was his gift, his curse, to draw those memories out of people. He could not stop it even if he had a mind to; his very presence caused it to happen.

He was going to have to make the most of things. His time, even once it had fully arrived, would not last forever. Eventually it would be someone else's time. They had an eye on him now, he knew, and were dimly aware of his doings. But Zod's days in this world were not here yet.

He winked at the dancer as she came over. He slipped his arm around her and bought her a drink. It was his time now, and the party was about to get started.

The toilets here were not the best place for a quick screw, but this did not present The Memento with a problem. He knew the owner's office was empty, and he knew that it would remain so. Not counting him and the young lady, of course. They got in completely unnoticed. As a precaution he shoved the desk against the door – there was no lock on it, strangely.

Of course the girl, whose name he knew as Ashley – a naughty girl, was Ashley – was no real prize. She was sexy, in a skinny sort of way, but not particularly to his tastes. But she'd do, oh yes she would.

She lay on the sofa, waiting for him.

"My friend says I should watch out for you. She thinks you're a bad guy," she said.

He grinned at her and nodded his head to the somewhat drowned out music.

"Chrissie? Sure, I all now all the sinners round these parts," he said, then joined her on the sofa. Ashley giggled a little and he laughed along with her.

"Do you think I'm a sinner?" she asked as he ran his hand through her dark hair.

"You all are," he said with a smile. "We all are."

She didn't laugh this time, and he saw it in her eyes. A memory had surfaced. An unwanted one. One she always tried to block out, especially before sex. Naughty, naughty Ashley was HIV positive, knew it, and had slept with four men since finding out. Denial was a powerful thing, but she couldn't deny the memory, the precious little memory of it. He knew it wouldn't be long before she developed full-blown AIDS.

This didn't concern him. Nothing so small as a disease was going to touch him; not now, not then. They weren't even going to use protection. The memory, the knowledge of her illness meant that Ashley wasn't really going to enjoy this.

But memory wasn't going to ruin it for him at all.

Clark had left messages on Chloe's phone all day, but she hadn't gotten back to him. He'd even tried calling Lois to bring her in on this. If Chloe wouldn't let him in, he figured she might listen to Lois, and her cousin was about the most persistent person he knew. He hadn't managed to get hold of Lois either. So he'd been left with no choice expect to drop by Chloe's apartment. He had no idea what he was going to say but there was no way he was giving up. Not on her, not ever.

I'm too late, he thought with horror as he saw the door to Chloe's apartment had been kicked open. Zipping inside, he saw nothing else untoward at first glance. Using his X-ray vision he looked through the door into Chloe's bedroom. There was someone in there and he recognised them at once. Opening the door, he walked in to see Lois hovering over Chloe's laptop. She turned her head as she saw Clark enter.

"Lois, what happened here?"

"What happened, Smallville, is that I got a bunch of messages on my phone from you telling me something was wrong with Chloe."

"Well something IS wrong. You saw the door. Someone must have broken in here and…"

"Uh… that was me. Kinda."

Lois shifted defensively as Clark rolled his eyes.

"Well, I was worried sick. For someone like you to notice something was wrong, I guessed it must have been pretty serious."

Clark's exasperation at Lois was quickly swallowed by relief as he realised that Chloe hadn't been kidnapped after all. This relief did not last.

"Oh my God," gasped Lois, looking at the screen of Chloe's laptop. "This can't be right."

Moving alongside her, Clark saw what had startled Lois so much.

"Clark… this is a suicide note."

To Those That Care,

I'd just like to say that I'm really sorry for everything lately. I chose to turn to despair rather than my friends, and I realise now that was wrong. Clark, it was you who made me understand that. The reason I broke my promise, the reason I didn't tell you everything when we talked… it wasn't the reason you think it is.

I don't think I'm going to see any of you again. Not where I'm going.

Dad, I'm sorry we drifted apart. We were so close all those years when it was just you and me. I suppose it's a part of growing up, but I miss those days.

Lois, so much more than my cousin, it was fun to see you in Smallville for awhile. It wasn't that long ago that I hated the place too. I guess it kind of grows on you.

Lana and Pete, my friends, Smallville High seems a long time ago now, doesn't it? Lana, you've grown so much. I'm a little jealous, and not just because you're the prettiest girl around anymore. Pete, sorry I never found out about Kryptonian video game technology for you. Some stories are beyond even this reporter.

And to Clark… don't feel like you didn't save me. You did. You do.

Clark looked at Lois then read the note again carefully.

"I don't think that's what this is, Lois," he said slowly. "We both know Chloe would never kill herself."

"Then what?"

"Wherever she's gone, whatever she's doing, I don't think she expects to come back. But I don't think she went there to die. I think she went there to live."

"You're not making any sense!" cried Lois, standing up and looking like she was about to throttle Clark. Clark just looked at her sadly. I know this isn't what you meant Chloe, he thought, but if you're still alive, if you're still out there, I'm going to save you. Believe it.

"I tried calling you yesterday. Martin said he didn't know where you were," said Vanessa. Trying to sound concerned, instead coming off only as curious. No doubt wondering if Martin had lied, was keeping her from the phone, keeping her quiet. Stephanie knew none of her friends trusted Martin. He'd actively kept them from seeing her at certain times. Once of twice it might seem normal enough, but hadn't it been more than that by now? And hadn't he seemed the tiniest bit anxious as he politely explained that Stephanie was feeling under the weather and no, they couldn't see her?

Of course none of them came out and said such a thing. Yet here in Smallville news had a way of travelling even if it were never spoken aloud.

"Just a communications problem," said Stephanie.

So where were you?" Trying to force the issue without forcing the issue. Knowing Martin was upstairs in the bedroom. Like Martin, oblivious to that little box that was hidden away in there. That little box that even now might be suggesting Stephanie take the lid off for a little peek at the contents. Or was that now a treacherous voice all her own?

"Just visiting a friend."

"Without your husband knowing?" An entirely innocent expression on her face, but Stephanie knew another 'rumour' would soon be spreading among her friends.

"Like I said, just a communications problem."

"More like a total breakdown."

No point trying to squash it now. Besides, this was still far better than having Vanessa – or anyone at all – know the truth. Vanessa changed the subject to her own husband at this point, but Stephanie was barely listening. Her thoughts kept turning to the box upstairs… and just how close Martin was to it. When she'd first tried to hide it – something she'd done several times before being happy – The Memento's voice entered her head. He explained to her that her husband (or indeed, any others – say, Vanessa) would not be able to hear the voices in the box. The Memento might hear them, Alice might hear them, others would not.

She'd eventually settled on placing the box inside a box, a box filled with old photos of herself and her family. Martin never liked looking at photos, even recent ones. He barely gave their holiday photos a second glance. The boxes were placed under a pile of albums. Memories beneath memories. It wasn't the best hiding place… but it would have to do. The Memento's voice never told her to keep it nearby, but her own did. She could only hope her husband would stick to form. Because if he found the box, he would open it. And if he opened it…

The Memento opened his eyes. He checked in on Stephanie and that precious box every now and then, just to be sure. Everything now depended on it. His power was slowly weakening, but that box held the means to restore him. He supposed he should thank Chloe; it was her who had put him in mind of Smallville. It was truly perfect, a town small enough for his plan to work. A town burdened by tragedy.

He saw Ashley lying across him, looking even less a prize to him now. She was gazing at him with something approaching awe. It was like she had just slept with a celebrity.

Clark would be here soon. The Memento would summon him, or remind him might be more accurate. Young Clark needed to be reminded of quite a few things… and informed of others, thought The Memento.

Ashley's skin felt cold. Her hand moved forwards but he slapped it away. It had been fun, but he'd already grown tired of the memory and more tired of her. He was tempted to open a portal and toss her screaming into the void. He stayed his hand. Leave her to her fate.

It was still better than that of the good folks in Smallville were going to get. The Creamed Corn Capital of the World! The Meteor Capital of the World! Well, he figured they'd be getting a new name pretty soon. Oh, he doubted he'd get all of them – his power was not strong enough for that, and some of them would possess willpower that he could not overcome. But the place would never truly recover.

Welcome to Smallville. Suicide capital of the world!


	7. Chapter 7

Trying to ignore Lois' questions, Clark took a quick scan of Chloe's room with his x-ray vision, hoping to find some other clue. There was something in one of her drawers. Without thinking, he pulled it open.

"Clark? What the hell are you doing?"

"Just, uh, looking for clues," he said.

"And the underwear drawer was the first thing you thought of?"

"Got to start somewhere," said Clark, quickly grabbing the note and concealing it from Lois. "How about you check in here while I look in the other rooms."

Once he was out of the way he opened up the note. He recognised instantly that it wasn't written in Chloe's handwriting.

'Howdy Clark! You're probably wondering where your good friend Chloe is right about now. Come to the nightclub, Atlantis. You used to drop by there when you were in Metropolis, didn't you? Or maybe I'm thinking of someone else! Either way, I think you know where it is. We have a lot to talk about, you and I.'

Clark's eyes narrowed as he read it. Not many people would have known about his trips to Atlantis as Kal-El. Worse, the note implied someone knew about his other identity.

The reason I broke my promise, the reason I didn't tell you everything when we talked… it wasn't the reason you think it is, he thought, remembering Chloe's message. It was then he realised: Chloe was trying to protect him.

He wondered what the hell was going on.

Lionel was dreaming. He was on a train, destination unknown, a large bag sitting on the floor in front of him. The seat beside was empty but sitting across from him was a little girl, probably around eight years old. She was looking out of the window with a look of excitement on her face. Lionel turned to see what was so interesting. He problem was that the outside appeared to consist of nothing at all. They were speeding through some large, unending emptiness. Turning away from this, he saw the ticket collector was heading down towards them. The steps he was taking were unnaturally large; he was actually striding, almost leaping forwards. For some reason he didn't seem to be checking anyone's ticket.

"He's coming for you," the girl told him casually. "You've made him so angry." She didn't take her eyes from the nothing.

Lionel suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. He stood up quickly. He had no idea where he was going to go on a moving train that was in the middle of a very literal nowhere, but couldn't stay where he was. Not looking back he began to run down towards the back of the carriage. The door to the next one lay just ahead, he reached out to pull it open –

A hand touched his shoulder.

"Not so fast, little one! In a rush to use the toilet, are ya? Toilets for paying customers only, you might say. Gonna need to see your ticket!"

Lionel was certain of two things; he wouldn't have a ticket, and he didn't want to turn around. He did not want to see The Memento's face.

"Hurry it up please. I've got a whole lot of tickets to see. Of course, if you don't have a ticket…"

Lionel reached into his left coat pocket, finding it empty. His left contained his wallet, but no ticket.

The ticket collector spun him round. The Memento was now wearing a uniform and cap, looking just as absurd as when Lionel had met him last. His hair looked a lot wilder though, and he now possessed the longest nose hairs Lionel had ever seen. Some kind of insect was hanging off the end of one.

"Can I buy a ticket?" Lionel heard himself ask. That got the grin off The Memento's face, if not the insect from the nose hair. Lionel watched him suck the cheeks into his face before they popped back out again.

"Never think it. We don't buy tickets around these parts, my friend. We have to earn them, don't we Mike?"

The collector was talking to a man sitting to the right of them. He was staring blankly in front of him. His hands were trembling slightly.

"Earn them," said Mike.

The collector patted Leland on the back, looking cheerful once more.

"Mike's been here longer than it would take to grow these nose hairs. Much, much longer in fact," he whispered. "I don't think he'll ever earn his soul – or his ticket, if you prefer. But you'll do fine, I'm certain of it. Wait one moment, please."

Lionel watched as The Memento walked back to where he had sat opposite the girl and picked up the bag that was left there. From the corner of his vision he saw Mike turn and look at him through dead eyes. A small brown insect, perhaps the cousin of the one on the old nose hair, crawled out of Mike's mouth.

"People like us always lose our tickets," said Mike in a voice so small it could almost have been the insect talking. "We're careless like that. You better make sure you get yours back. He won't throw you off, you know. On this ride, if you don't have a ticket, you never leave."

"I see," said Lionel, though he wasn't sure he did.

Mike turned away. The Memento was back, unzipping the bag. Lionel expected a whole army of insects to burst out, flying all over his face. Instead he saw a pistol which was pressed firmly into Lionel's hand.

"Where is Chloe Sullivan, Lionel?" asked The Memento softly. "Why is she still alive?"

Lionel wanted nothing more than to raise the gun and blow that grin away; yet it wasn't happening.

"She never showed. I went back to her apartment, but she seems to have disappeared."

"I hope that isn't true. Because you too can disappear, you know. Worse than that, I would have to consider something like that a deal breaker. And you know what that means, of course?"

Lionel fought to contain his rage.

"It was a wonderful moment for me, meeting your son Lex for the first time. I sensed his potential immediately. It seemed so wasteful somehow, for him to throw his whole life away at such a young age. Just because his brother had died."

"It wasn't him," said Lionel slowly. "You tricked me."

"Oh, I knew Lex never killed Julian. That was a mistake you made all on your own… I merely failed to inform you otherwise. Yet I was summoned there to remind him of the death nonetheless. I couldn't simply spare him without getting something in return though. That's where you and I did business. And believe me, the deal still stands. I spared Lex from madness in return for you one day doing me a favour. The funny part is, you then induced madness in him yourself."

"I don't know where she is."

"Find her, Lionel. And quickly. If only I'd been there to remind Lex all those years ago, he never would have forgotten that it was his mother, and not him, who killed that poor baby. It's not too late for me to make sure he doesn't forget again."

Lionel blinked and The Memento was gone, nothing more than a memory himself. The insect remained, hanging motionless in the air for a moment before flying over to the window beside the girl. She turned to look at it before squashing it with the palm of her hand. That's when Lionel woke up. The gun was still in his hand, apparently having become real somehow.

He chuckled to himself under his breath. So The Memento wasn't all-knowing after all. And, ironically, despite his name, he'd managed to forget something he never should have. He'd forgotten exactly what a Luthor was capable of.


	8. Chapter 8

Clark was rather surprised to find Atlantis empty (deserted would perhaps be more accurate) at a time when it should be doing good business. It couldn't exactly be called a slow night; the staff had also disappeared. Happily, they'd left the door open. Very likely because he was walking into a trap.

"Mate in three moves," said The Memento, emerging from the owner's office, his voice echoing throughout the whole building. He was holding three fingers up, one of which had a gold ring on it. He was also grinning as if he'd just seen his oldest, dearest friend for the first time in years. He outstretched his arms for a moment and walked over, looking like he was about to give Clark a hug.

"Where's Chloe?" asked Clark, though it sounded more a demand than a question.

"We have a lot to talk about, Clark. Let's borrow the office."

"Here's fine," said Clark. The Memento just shrugged at this. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of Scotch from the shelf. He held the bottle up, silently asking Clark if he wanted some.

"What have you done to her? Is all of this because of you?" asked Clark. The Memento paused with the glass half-way to his lips.

"Is that what she told you? I reckon you've been kept quite in the dark, young man."

"I'm not going to ask you again."

"Oh, please. Are you threatening me? I sincerely hoped it wouldn't come down to that. I know all about your powers, of course. Chloe told me all about them," he said with a smile.

Clark considered for a moment claiming not to have any powers, but it felt like a waste of time. Time Chloe might not have. Instead, everything around him began to slow. The man's eyes had closed in a half blink, glass by his side, horrible smile frozen in place. Clark moved forwards, arms reaching out, and using some of his strength slammed him against the bar. He held him firmly in place but the next thing he knew he fell forwards as the man's weight stopped propping him up. He heard the glass shatter on the floor beside him.

"It takes more than throwing me around to beat me, son."

Clark turned to look at the stranger. He didn't look any different to him, and even using his x-ray vision, there was nothing that seemed to separate him from a normal person.

"You can't stay like that forever. What exactly are you?" asked Clark, tensing himself, ready to his powers if the man became tangible again.

"I am a reminder of the things people forget. Or maybe just the things they'd rather forget. I am something ancient, something that carries many faces and names. Today, I am The Memento. I was human once, but that was long ago and not well remembered. I have become something else entirely. You, on the other hand, have never been human, yet there is more humanity in you than in say… a Luthor."

Clark's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Luthor name.

"Is Lex involved in this?" he asked, earning a chuckle from The Memento.

"Not a bit. It's funny; nowadays you judge him more harshly than your father ever did. How is your father, by the way? Heart not so good, from what I hear. You might want to keep one of those meteor rocks – kryptonite, I think they're called – handy. I just may be visiting you again soon, in a more official capacity."

The Memento laughed again. Clark had a lot more to worry about than just his father now. He did not think Jonathan Kent would be joining the other dead in Smallville just yet… but the demise of the town would surely finish off both he and Clark soon enough. Clark had felt guilty enough about 'bringing' the meteors to Smallville. How would he feel once he knew he'd been here, chatting away while the good citizens of Smallville partook in a little mass suicide?

"I don't know what you are, but I promise you: If you've hurt Chloe I'm going to make your life a living hell."

"I bet! But it isn't her you want, is it? Lana's always been the one for you, right? Oh, you've had feelings for Chloe now and then – feelings more real than you thought – but they were soon forgotten, weren't they?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably. He was finding himself overburdened by memories for some reason. His father's heart attack, finishing things between himself and Lana, running away to Metropolis. I have to concentrate, he thought. Why am I thinking about all this now? I have to help Chloe. I have to stay focused.

"I could make Lana forget all about Lex, you know. I have complete control over people's memories. Why, you could forget Chloe Sullivan even existed if I wished it."

Clark struggled to stay on his feet. Too many memories were coming back to him at once, terrible memories, each of them struggling to dominate his mind. Alicia's death, the destruction of the spaceship, resulting in the death of his mother's unborn child, discovering the depth of Lex's betrayal. Lying to his friends over and over, hurting them every time. Then everything went away apart from his memories of Chloe and Lana. When he'd met them both for the first time. Lying to them both, hurting them both, always wanting the best yet somehow making the wrong moves over and over. Images of them both flickered through his thoughts, both of them seeming to battle for supremacy over the other. He screamed as he became totally overwhelmed by the power of the memories, the intensity of his own feelings. He fell backwards, clutching his head. Then finally, he began to understand something, and the flow of memory stopped. Righting himself, he took just a moment to recover.

"I loved Lana from the first time I saw her. She was the first person I ever loved, and I'll always care for her. But… she's not a part of my life anymore," he said, apparently speaking to himself. "And… Chloe Sullivan… is more than just a memory to me."

Chloe pressed the doorbell again, looking around anxiously as she did. Bill stood patiently behind her. She hadn't wanted to get him involved. The whole point of not telling Clark was to avoid putting anyone else in danger. She figured if anyone could understand keeping a secret to protect someone, it was probably him. She certainly hoped so; she couldn't bare the thought of Clark resenting her.

"You sure this is the right place?" asked Bill.

"Yeah, this is where Lionel told me to come," she replied, checking for any sign of life at the window. "I think she used to work for him or something."

He had turned up at her apartment after her initial meeting with Lionel, much to her surprise. Talking to Bill in the first place had really been when she'd reached the point of no-return. She'd tried her best to explain to Bill just how dangerous the situation was. The fact that he was here with her now showed her she hadn't been entirely successful in this.

"I have nothing to lose," he'd said.

Looking at him then had given her a glimpse of what she could have become. Bill had no-one else in his life now; no-one left behind for him to protect or be protected by. Were there people who reached out to him at one time and failed? Still, he was a comforting presence. He reminded her painfully of how she'd pulled away from her father.

She noticed he was sweating now. In fact, he didn't look all that well. She was about to say something when he nodded at an upstairs window.

"I think there's someone up there," said Bill.

"We need to get in. If he's gotten to them first…"

Bill just nodded and strode up to the door. Again, Chloe was glad he was here. She never would have been able to kick the door down by herself. It burst open on his third try. He was charging up the stairs before she could shout a warning. She hurried up after him. It was right he be here, she supposed. This 'Memento' had effectively turned him into a complete recluse. When he'd first met him as a child, he'd learned there were things in the world that were… well, weird. Things she'd spent most of her life chasing. One of which she'd been in love with for about as long as she could remember. But 'weird' things were things that most people always tried to avoid.

"Sweet Jesus," she heard him say. He'd stopped dead upon entering the bedroom, causing her to almost run right into him. She gasped when she saw what he was looking at.

A woman lay slumped on a chair, her face covered by a bloodied tissue. There was blood flowing freely from her wrists. A knife lay by her feet on the floor. She was vaguely aware of Bill kneeling down to pick it up.

"Call for help," she told him, handing him her cell phone. She gently took hold of the woman's hand.

"Where's the box? Where IS it?" she screamed, startling Chloe.

"It's going to be all right," said Chloe, who didn't believe that at all. "Are you Stephanie?"

The woman nodded slightly, causing the tissue to slide slightly down her face. A big empty socket where an eye should be was revealed.

"Who did this to you?" Chloe asked.

"Don't you understand?" said Stephanie, sobbing hysterically. It sounded like she was struggling to hold on to her sanity. Chloe squeezed her hand, looking away from the missing eye. "I did it to myself. WHERE IS THE BOX?"

Chloe had no idea what she was talking about, but took a quick look around. As she turned her eyes widened at what she saw.

"No!" she cried, lunging forward, knowing it was too late.

Bill plunged the knife straight into his heart. His eyes looked horribly grateful as he collapsed dead to the floor. Chloe could only look in stunned terror.

"You have to close the box," said Stephanie in a strained voice. "Everyone's going to kill themselves."

Feeling nauseous, Chloe picked up her cell phone. Bill had dropped it onto the floor. She knew she had to call… to call for help…

But it was hopeless, of course. Stephanie was dead. Bill was dead. There was nothing more to be done now. Everything was just so… hopeless. Yes.

The knife was embedded so deep in Bill's chest she wasn't sure she could pull it out. No matter, she thought, kneeling down and pulling the lace from her shoe. There were no shortage of ways to carry it out. She pushed Stephanie's corpse off of the chair, shuddering slightly as she saw her cut, blood-soaked face. Stephanie had tried to fight it. That could only make things worse, she realised, looking up at the ceiling. There was nothing she could see here to hang herself from, but an unknown voice spoke up inside her. The attic. There would be beams overhead in the attic.

She pulled down the stairs leading up there and proceeded with a terribly powerful, single-minded purpose. She placed the chair and, standing on it, tied one end of the lace around one of the beams. As she made a noose she had time to regret not kissing Clark goodbye. Of not spending time with him in her last weeks alive. Things she had wanted to do but lacked the courage to follow through on. As she put her head in the noose, she knew she'd follow through this time.


	9. Chapter 9

"What are you doing, sweetheart?"

Chloe blinked. An unknown voice had guided her here into the attic; now she was hearing her father's.

"We all still need you, Chloe. I know how hard these past few weeks have been for you. You've been withdrawn, lonely. But you're forgetting one thing: Our lives were worse off without you, as yours was without us."

She couldn't see him anywhere, but she didn't need to. She knew he wasn't really in the attic but in some way she was certain he was here all the same. Telling her what she needed to hear. A few deep breaths and she knew she was regaining her senses. Thanks to the memory of her father's love.

Her father.

Everyone was going to kill themselves.

She had to help her father, she thought, when a treacherous foot suddenly kicked the chair she was standing on backwards.

Your father's dead, shrieked the voice she'd heard before. Smashed his own window and stabbed his Adam's Apple through the glass!

The chair wobbled on two legs, Chloe trying desperately to balance it with her heel. If it fell, she'd be hung. She struggled to try and remove the noose from around her neck, but she'd tied it tight. Oh God, she thought, don't like it end like this…

The chair toppled backwards and suddenly Chloe couldn't breathe. With one last effort she swung her legs back and snapped them shut around the back of the chair. The lace was tight against her throat, face turning red through lack of air. Swinging forward she just barely managed to drop the chairs on all fours. Her feet found their target and she untied the noose as quickly as she could.

She fell off the chair, landing hard on the floor, coughing uncontrollably. Her hands scrambled around, trying to find her phone. She knew she had to call Clark and warn him. It had been stupid to try and deal with this by herself. She'd thought The Memento would leave him alone so long as Clark didn't know about him. Instead, Memento apparently wanted to kill everyone in town… or rather, have them kill themselves. Clark's parents were in danger. Now that she considered it, would even Clark be immune?

A shadow fell over her as if in response. Not having fully recovered, she turned round and a fist smacked against her face. She fell back, blood coming from her nose, head reeling. There was a man there. He must have seen the whole thing. He held a small box in his free hand. The lid was off. Chloe gasped as she remembered Stephanie's ramblings.

"Listen to me," she said, rubbing her nose and getting to her feet. "We need the lid for that box."

She recognised the man from a photo she'd seen downstairs – this must be Stephanie's husband, Martin. His wife was right now lying dead downstairs with most of her face missing. Bill was next to her with a knife in his heart. If she'd never went to him in the first place, he'd still be alive now.

Martin grabbed her by the throat. There was a strange light behind his eyes.

"Why didn't you kill yourself?" he asked. It was presumably a rhetorical question, since Chloe had no way of answering. She tried to kick out at him to break his cold grip but he forced her to her knees. He was too strong for her to fight against. In desperation she swiped out with her left hand, knocking the box from his grasp. Martin first gasped then roared as it went flying down the attic stairs. He lunged after it and as he moved past Chloe shoved him with all the strength she had left. He hurtled downwards out of control, crashing against the stairs and landing at the bottom painfully.

She was hurt and frightened but knew there was no time to waste. She grabbed her phone and called Clark. Maybe she'd been right, and even Clark couldn't stop Memento. But maybe she should have put her faith in him from the beginning.

The Memento was looking at Clark with an expression of sympathy on his face.

"The memories don't usually come as violently as that. I suppose it must be due to your alien nature," he said as Clark regained his bearings.

"You did that?" Clark asked blinking repeatedly.

"Better than a whole week at Summerholt, I am!"

The Memento went back round the bar, stopping only as Clark's phone began to ring. Clark's heart skipped a beat as he saw it was Chloe calling. He saw The Memento looking keenly at him and realised – he didn't know where she was.

"Hello?" Clark answered quickly.

"Clark, please help me! I'm in big trouble. So is everybody in Smallville," said Chloe. She sounded panicked. Clark wanted desperately to ask where she was, but realised with frustration that he couldn't without putting her in danger.

"No, I haven't found her yet, Lois. I'm working on it though," he said, looking at The Memento meaningfully. Clark didn't know if he was fooled or not. Either way, Chloe caught on. She gave him the address he could find her at.

"Please hurry. And be careful, Clark."

He terminated the call. There was so much he wanted to say to her but couldn't. There would be time later, he told himself. There would.

He began walking towards the exit. The Memento made no move to stop him.

"I'm through playing your game," said Clark. "I don't care if I have to turn Metropolis upside down, I'm going to find Chloe."

Memento nodded.

"She isn't in Metropolis though, is she now, Clark?"

Clark's eyes narrowed.

"It's funny really," said Memento, grinning. "I bring you here to distract you from the chain of events I set in motion, but it's me who loses track of things! I lose sight of Chloe because I'm looking at the box. I lose sight of the box because I'm talking to you. And now Chloe is with the box!"

The Memento began to laugh hysterically. Clark moved over to the door, opened it and peered out. Into nothing. The street outside had disappeared, leaving behind a white void. It was like looking at a blank canvass God hadn't gotten round to filling in. He made to step into it anyway when The Memento called to him.

"I wouldn't step out there, if I were you. If you do that, I'm afraid you will be lost forever."

Clark spun round to see The Memento was vanishing. Using his speed, Clark ran towards him, but The Memento's disappearance never slowed. For a moment he expected The Memento's grin to remain floating in the air like The Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland.

He was trapped here. Returning to the door, being careful not to step outside, he used his telescopic vision to look far off into the distance. Yet no matter how far he looked he could see nothing but emptiness. He knew it could be another trick. If he stepped through he might find himself in Metropolis.

I'm afraid you will be lost forever.

If I go, I might just be lost forever, he told himself. If I don't, Chloe definitely will be.

Steeling himself, Clark stepped out into the unknown.


	10. Chapter 10

Chloe peered nervously down the attic stairs. Martin was lying apparently unconscious at the bottom, a small cut on the side of his head. The box was lying next to him. His hand was stretched out like it was still trying to get a hold of it. She knew she'd have to go down and get it. And probably as soon as she did, he would wake up and grab her.

She'd tried calling her father but there was no answer. That didn't necessarily mean anything – his social calendar might have opened up now he didn't have his daughter around.

Dead people have no need to answer phones, Chloe, piped up the old voice cheerfully. His dead eyes are looking at a photo of you right now, you know!

Following that she'd tried The Kents. No-one picked up there either. Her heart had sank. What if it was already too late? Not to mention Clark hadn't arrived yet. With his speed, he could have been there before she'd even hung up the phone after calling him. But several minutes later he wasn't here. She was sure he'd been with Memento before. God, please let him be alright.

She couldn't afford to wait for him, she knew. Summoning up all the courage she could manage she hurried down the steps, keeping her eyes on Martin. He'd asked her why she hadn't killed herself… but what about him?

She picked up the box and inspected it. It just looked to her like a plain, empty metal box. Whatever was inside had gotten loose. It was so small she couldn't imagine what that could have been. Yet apparently it was responsible for the deaths of Stephanie and Bill, and almost her own. And maybe her father's. Maybe The Kent's. She had to find the lid. She wasn't sure how that would stop it – the box was empty, after all – but Stephanie thought it would, and that was all she had to go by.

Then she almost jumped out of her skin, and it wasn't because of Martin. There had been a knock at the door. Her heart leapt in her chest, but then she realised it was unlikely to be Clark. He would probably have torn the door of it's hinges rather than knock, under the circumstances. Then she remembered the door was already open – Bill had kicked it in. Someone here to check out the disturbance?

"Howdy Chloe!" called a cheery voice from the doorway. Right round the corner from where she was standing. The voice travelled as if there were no distance between them at all. She now had a fair idea of who it might be. A man she'd sent months chasing. But she hadn't found him – he'd found her. She could hear him walking towards her right now. She spun round to face him, but the sound faded away.

There was a noise in the living room. Given that there should only be two corpses in there, she turned again. Through the door she could see a figure wrapped in a dark coat and dark denim jeans lying on the sofa. His eyes were closed. He was smiling as if in the middle of a pleasant dream. As she cautiously approached, his eyes snapped open and fell upon her. She was horrified to be looking at the two corpses again… but it was The Memento that held her attention. The grin on his face did not falter. It was exactly as she had heard it described, time after time.

"You really screwed up my dear. You didn't want to follow the script, did you? What you didn't understand was this: you can rewrite it, but you can't UNwrite it," said The Memento.

"I've got the box," she said, holding it up as if it were a weapon. "And Clark's going to stop you. Once and for all."

Memento waggled a finger at her, grin widening to expose his canine teeth.

"Listen to yourself Chloe. You try to sound strong, confident, like you know what's going on. You sound to me like a little girl boasting about her hidden lolly pop collection. The box can't stop me, and neither can it's contents. It can only affect things with souls. And my dear, I DON'T HAVE A SOUL!"

Lionel barely recognised the woman standing in front of him as Martha Kent. She was stood in The Kent's kitchen area holding a knife to her throat while he hovered over by the door. He was sure if he made any attempt to move closer she would take her life at once. There was a slight tremble in her arm, he observed, and he was certain there was something behind her eyes pleading with him to help her. These were good signs, and he took a little hope from them.

"You're disappointing me, Martha," he said firmly. "If anyone in Smallville has the strength to overcome this, it's you."

He reached his arm out slowly towards her.

"Clark's gone. He's not coming back this time," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "And Jonathan doesn't have long left. Once he knows what's happened to Clark… I don't know if he…"

"That's enough now. Remember when Clark went missing? When Jonathan fell into that coma? You held on for months by yourself. I don't know what's happened to Clark, but we both know he has a des… a future, a bright future ahead of him that cannot be taken away so easily."

The tremor of her hand increased and he knew he was getting through to her. That's it Martha, fight it, he thought.

"You're being controlled. Something is making you think this way, doing everything it can to turn you against yourself. In all the time you were alone you never gave up. And now this entity has you giving up within minutes. No, that's not the Martha Kent I know. Give me the knife," he said in a voice that would not be disobeyed. It was the voice of a Luthor.

He stepped forward warily, fearing she might turn on him, but instead she turned the knife over and pressed it safely into his hand. He put it down safely out of reach, his eyes resting on it momentarily. While The Memento had use for him, he was happily immune from his influence, but there was no telling how long that would last. Still, he was confident that his willpower was second to none. He would not give in. Though he did recall putting a pistol in his mouth once long ago when he had been dying of his liver disease. That might provide a way in.

"What… what was that?" asked Martha, her voice trembling.

"I don't have time to explain. There's no way of telling how much of the town is being affected. And I'm afraid not everyone will be able to overcome it. Before the night is over, a lot of people in Smallville are going to be dead," said Lionel, turning away.

"Wait – where's Jonathan? Will he be affected too?"

Lionel paused, considering for a moment.

"He's a very strong, stubborn individual. I imagine he stands as good a chance as anyone. Now, I really must go. I came here hoping to find Clark, but it appears he isn't home."

"Lionel… there was a voice. It told me that Clark wasn't ever coming back," said Martha, though she wondered what reason Lionel had for wanting to see Clark while all this was going on. She didn't like it at all. Lionel smiled softly at her.

"If I can help Clark, I will," he said, before striding out. His car was waiting. He'd be driving himself this evening of course – he didn't want his driver suddenly developing the urge to drive them both off a cliff or something. Fortunately Lex was in Metropolis with Lana, so he didn't have to worry about his son. That would have complicated matters even further. Bad luck with Clark though. It didn't ruin his plan completely, but it did make things even more difficult. And Miss Sullivan had apparently failed in her efforts too. If she wasn't dead already, he thought, she surely would be soon. Once that happened, The Memento would probably be after him.

Getting into his car, Lionel decided he had better hurry. 


	11. Chapter 11

Atlantis had disappeared as soon as Clark stepped outside, leaving him with no way back. A small surge of fear flowed through him, though his resolve overpowered it. He couldn't help Chloe – or himself – by panicking. Instead he tried to find something, anything, that existed here, pushing his enhanced vision and hearing to levels he'd never had to use before.

There was nothing. On Earth there was really no such thing as true silence, especially for someone with super-hearing. There was always some kind of noise in the background. Here, apart from the sound he made himself, there was nothing.

No… there was something. Not something he could see or hear, just something he could feel. He believed if he were a normal person he would likely have been erased from existence just entering this place. This was not somewhere that welcomed the living. If not for his invulnerability he probably would have vanished. Even as it was he thought it was trying to eat away at him. Given enough time it could well have the power to succeed. If it didn't, he would probably go insane anyway. What kind of person could stand alone looking at nothing forever?

I love you Clark. Don't forget that, echoed Chloe's voice in his mind. But not just his mind, he realised: it seemed to run through the void as well. How could that be?

"I love you too, Chloe," said Clark, though there was no-one to hear. Refusing to give up, he began to run.

It was difficult to tell how fast he was going; usually he had some kind of scenery passing by him in a blur. He looked around in every direction, vision and hearing working overtime to try and find something. There had to be something.

And there it was, off in the distance. He could hear laughter. Veering off in that direction, he pushed himself to the limit. He had just barely enough time to wonder how this could possibly be of any help… and just how dangerous it could be.

"Have you come to play with us?"

A young was looking up at him, apparently unimpressed by his super-speed. Dressed as she was in a white dress, much of her blended in perfectly with the background. It made her look almost like a floating head and arms with nothing else. Behind her was a man who looked even more disinterested. He looked to Clark like he was depressed beyond belief. Suicidal, even.

"Actually, I'm looking for a way out of here," said Clark, feeling foolish. If this pair knew of one, they would surely have used it already. The girl looked at him as if she had lost all interest.

"Oh. You're another one from Smallville," she said, rolling her eyes. Clark felt a horrible pain run through his body. Hadn't he just been thinking he was invulnerable? That felt like a joke now.

"What do you mean?" he asked in a voice that felt small even in an empty world.

"Not one of them then? Hmm… we're getting a lot of people from there lately. They end up on the train. He keeps some of them, if he can put them to use. Some of them he lets play with me. But the rest… well, the train takes them to the end of the line," she said, and shuddered.

"Was one of them called Chloe Sullivan?" asked Clark, trembling slightly. The girl frowned, but the man spoke up.

"Chloe's still alive. I was with her before it all kicked off, and she hasn't turned up here," he said. "You have to hurry, though."

"Who are you?" asked Clark, puzzled.

"I don't have a name anymore, son. I was called Bill, back when it still mattered. Chloe came to me about The Memento. I wish I'd never talked to her. If he doesn't make you kill yourself, he kills you within but keeps you alive," he said.

The little girl stamped her foot impatiently.

"You're boring me," she said, looking at Clark closely. "What's your name?"

"Clark Kent."

"You… I've heard daddy talk about you. He gets so scary when he does. He drives people to despair. That's what his boss tells him to do. But you come along and take it away."

Clark was starting to feel a little disoriented. This place was hardly affecting him as quickly as kryptonite could but the effect would likely be just as deadly in the end.

"Daddy?" asked Clark, struggling to concentrate. He pictured Chloe in his mind, focusing on helping her. And why had a lot of people from Smallville turned up here? What was going on there? "Look, please, if you know how I can get out of this place…"

The look she gave him was pitying.

"There is no way out, silly."

Chloe recoiled as The Memento advanced, but he merely winked at her before turning his attention to Stephanie's corpse.

"Stephanie! I had rather expected you would be the vessel. Instead you're just laying there badly in need of a napkin. And a face! Shit! You took killing yourself a little TOO seriously, I think. Well, your little soul's mine now, of course. Too bad, really," he said with a smile.

He walked over to Bill, shaking his head as though regretful, then pulled the knife out from his heart with one smooth pull. Chloe felt very much like running, but found she couldn't. He was holding her in place somehow.

"You know Chloe, I haven't actually killed someone with my own hands in a very long time. Not since I killed myself all those long years ago, before I became The Memento. You should feel honoured."

Chloe could feel herself shaking – he had allowed her that much movement at least.

"Don't think I'm going to make it quick. No, I wouldn't want you to think that. I'm going to cut you to pieces," he whispered, holding the knife against her ear. "You see my dear, when you started looking into what I am, you committed suicide as surely as you would if you had hung yourself."

"Go… to… hell," said Chloe, struggling even to speak.

"I rather think I've already been, though if I met the devil, I don't remember it," he replied merrily. He was just raising the knife again when she heard a car pulling up outside. She felt no sense of relief at this. Whoever it was, it wasn't Clark, and they weren't going to be able to help. She was starting to think Clark wasn't coming at all. And that could mean only one thing.

The Memento had strolled over to the window, whistling a tune she didn't recognise.

"Lionel Luthor. I should have known. He really is resourceful. It seems he's managed to track you down. Of course, I won't spare him – the fool thinks he can actually defeat me, after all – but I'm glad he pulled it off. Still, great as he was, Lionel was always just the curtain waiting to be pulled back before the true darkness was revealed. Lex is sure to surpass his father," said The Memento.

As Lionel entered, Chloe could see him trying to hide his surprise at seeing her there. She could see a pistol in his hand. Did he actually think that was going to work on The Memento?

"Well, it seems you've been granted a reprieve, Chloe. I won't have to dirty my hands after all. Time to pay your debt, Lionel. Kill her, and your son is spared."

She could see Lionel's brain working, trying to come up with a solution to this dilemma. She knew he didn't really want to kill her, but she also knew he most certainly would if it bought him more time. Lionel rubbed his hand across his face, seemingly frustrated he hadn't thought of anything.

"I'm truly sorry about this, Miss Sullivan," he said, and pulled the trigger.


	12. Chapter 12

Since she was still unable to move, it took Chloe a few moments to realise what had happened. And why The Memento was so furious. At first she thought Lionel must have shot Memento, something she didn't consider one of his best ideas. Still, better than shooting her at least.

"That won't stop it, Lionel. It will slow things down a bit – and Chloe's already managed that when she knocked him out – but another vessel will be taken."

The Memento passed by her without so much as a glance in her direction. Almost as if he had forgotten about her, though since she still couldn't move that was rather unlikely. She realised Lionel must have shot Martin instead.

"I'm very disappointed. Didn't you once remind your son that Judas hung himself with his own rope? Traitors end up in the devil's rectum, Lionel!"

Struggling with every bit of strength in her body, Chloe managed to turn herself round. The Memento's control had weakened a little. Well, I can move, she thought, but I'm really not sure what use that's going to be. She could see Martin had joined the collection of corpses in the living room. There could well be a couple more yet to come, unless Clark had one more last minute rescue up his sleeve. If he were even still alive, she though grimly, and felt a despair almost as strong – but much more real – than she had before trying to hang herself.

Lionel was backing away slowly. He almost managed to trip over Martin's corpse. His eyes deliberately avoided Chloe, and she realised he was waiting for her to do something. In other circumstances it would have been funny. Lionel Luthor powerless, needing Chloe Sullivan to help.

She could see small lights emerging from Martin's body, looking almost like tiny fairies. Were those what had been in the box all along? Why, it was magical! Wonderful! Truly The Memento was a force for good!

"He'll have to do," said The Memento, causing the lights to hover around Lionel's head. Lionel swatted at them, but his hand went straight through, uselessly.

"We cannot. He is already claimed by another," sang a chorus of voices, male and female. The Memento frowned, looking closely at Lionel.

"Interesting," he said, stroking his chin. "The girl, then. As for you Lionel, I'm afraid your soul, whatever shreds may exist of it, now belongs to me."

"No," whispered Lionel, sounding fearful. Chloe had never expected to hear a Luthor sound like that.

The Memento gestured with his hand and a portal appeared in front of him. Chloe could see right into it; it was a world of white. It was like he had just removed part of the room from existence.

She moved forward to try and help Lionel. Not even he deserved this, though she knew the situation was hopeless. That was when the lights flew into her head.

They burned her, they were burning their way through. She screamed, and felt her mind being devoured, being eaten away by the cute little fairies. Her mind being shattered, shattered pieces themselves being torn to shreds.

Clark didn't know what his next move was. The only other place he could apparently get to from here was 'The End of the Line' the girl had mentioned, and he really didn't want to see what that might be. Anguish overcame him as he realised he would never see his loved ones again.

His parents.

Lana.

Chloe.

Chloe! Chloe was screaming. She wasn't nearby, but he could hear it right out in the outer reaches of his hearing. But that must mean… no, Chloe, you can't be here too… It was better for him to live here alone than to have to watch the girl he loved trapped in this place. And if she was here then she must be dead. He was trapped here with the ghost of Chloe Sullivan. He had failed her completely.

Tears touched his eyelashes, but he didn't cry at super-speed. Before even one could fully form he was running. The girl had half opened her mouth to say something, but it stayed frozen like that. He ran as fast as he could, trying to outrun his tears, his pain, his horror. He didn't want to see Chloe dead, but he couldn't leave her alone here. As he moved though, he realised he wasn't moving as quickly as he normally would. This place was slowly killing him. Would he live here as a ghost afterwards, or would he be erased entirely? Would he be forced to leave Chloe alone?

That was when he saw her. He made a strange hiccupping sound then began to laugh with relief. She was still alive. But she was still screaming… she looked in terrible pain. He saw The Memento there too. He was the one behind all this. It had to end, and he had to be the one to end it. He had never entered into a fight with the intention of killing something before, but he surely didn't have a choice this time. Even for something like The Memento, he felt guilt at the knowledge… but better living with that guilt than the guilt of letting anything happen to Chloe.

No-one was more stunned than Chloe when something came out of the portal instead of going in. No-one was more delighted either. His very presence seemed to make it easier to fight against the pain, to defend herself against the force that was trying to invade her.

"Clark?" she asked hesitantly, as if fearing he was a mere symptom of the insanity she was battling against.

The Memento had turned, baffled at what had just happened. With a growl he hit Lionel with the back of his hand, knocking him to the floor. For a moment he looked lost for words, then burst into another grin. Chloe hoped it would be his last.

"Clark Kent! Come on down!"

"It's over, Memento. I don't know what you are, but that doesn't matter. You know my secret, but I don't think you know what I really am either."

"And what might that be, young man?" asked The Memento as he advanced.

"He's the guy that's going to kick your ass," said Chloe, managing a smile. Memento opened his mouth to reply.

That was when Clark punched him straight through the living room wall.

The fight was on.


	13. Chapter 13

Clark looked at Chloe for a moment, hesitating. She gestured for him to go after The Memento. He hated to leave her – she still looked to be in pain – but he knew he had to finish things. He walked through the hole in the living room out onto the street, seeing that The Memento was getting back to his feet. Clark knew his powers weren't operating at full capacity, the void having taken it's toll on his body. But he was still far stronger and faster than any human; he just hoped it would be enough. The Memento was way beyond human too, and Clark had no idea what tricks this creature had up it's sleeve.

Charging forward, he struck Memento in the chest with his right hand, knocking him backwards until he slammed into the side of a car. The front door fell off with the impact, revealing a man slumped over the wheel, smiling pleasantly, blood dripping from his head.

No wonder there were so many people from Smallville in the void, he thought, scanning the street with his x-ray vision. Many of the hearts he saw were no longer beating. Is it like this all over town, he wondered? Horror seized him. What if his parents –

A blinding light from The Memento's palm cast him backwards. He skidded across the ground, feeling his skin burn. It was a fearsome power, clearly meant to kill. It had failed, as did the next one. Realising he was in danger of being pinned down – he would be finished if that happened – Clark fought back desperately. In an instant fire shot from his eyes towards The Memento. The enigma was fast, though, and his heat vision missed, instead exploding a streetlight behind him. Clark thought he would be grateful if someone were capable of investigating, even if it meant revealing his secret.

The move had not been wasted, as it still gave him an opportunity to shift his position. Hoping that even at his reduced speed he was still faster than Memento, he ran round behind him, grabbing him in a crushing grip. The Memento gave a cry of equal pain and rage. Clark could feel him trying to break his iron grip, and it slowly began to loosen. He redoubled his efforts, remembering everything Chloe had been through came back to this monster. The people now lost in the void, beyond his help now, were there because of him. The people in Smallville who had given into the despair this thing brought out in them all because of this Memento.

Just as Clark was winning, The Memento slipped through his grasp. He'd become intangible again. The once permanent grin was long gone, he saw as it turned to face him. Not even a memento of it remained.

"Even if you could kill me, Clark, what good would it do? With all the powers you have, you still can't undo damage already done. Your parents are dead, Chloe is losing her mind, and your hometown is dying," said Memento. "You have nothing left."

"I still have one thing, and it's something you'll never have. I still have hope," said Clark, smiling grimly.

Memento half-turned before spinning on his heel and launching a barrage of blows towards Clark's head. Clark however, had been anticipating the move, and dodged all of them, his head snapping from side to side in a blur of movement. The next attack was not something he could have seen coming though, as a partial shadow suddenly detached itself from Memento and wrapped itself around Clark's body tightly. He struggled against it, frustrated as he knew with just a little more of his strength restored he could have broken free.

Instead he used his heat vision again, and this time it hit the target. Memento fell back, flames erupting around his chest. The next thing Clark knew he had disappeared. At first he thought it might have been burned to nothing, but this seemed too much to hope for. Using his hearing, he sensed him appear a little off to the right. With one last heroic effort Clark broke the shadow that constricted him, spinning to face his opponent.

His eyes left Memento as he saw Chloe emerge through the large hole in the home of the late Stephanie and Martin.

"I'll tell you what hope you have. You have the hope of achieving one of the following. One, Chloe Sullivan lives, and the damned ghosts of memory that possess her now destroy the town. Two, the btch dies, and the town is saved," said Memento, delight creeping into his voice.

Clark looked at Chloe with his X-ray vision, unsure of what The Memento was talking about. He could see something that looked like a group of flies buzzing around inside Chloe's head. Gasping at what he saw, his vision returned to normal, and he looked open-mouthed at Memento.

"Is there really a choice, Clark? Can you really put this one girl's life, however important it is to you, ahead of the lives of so many others? And perhaps I was lying when I said your parents were dead. What if there is still a chance you could save them?"

Perhaps you're lying now, thought Clark, walking over to Chloe. She opened her mouth to say something, but he didn't wait to hear it. Instead, to the astonishment of both The Memento and Chloe, he pulled her to him and kissed her.

After a few seconds he pulled back, and Chloe realised what he was doing. She could see the small lights being drawn towards Clark. He was pulling them towards them, using his strength to inhale them. She could see pain appearing in his eyes as they entered his body, but still he did not stop. He was going to make sure he got every last one of them.

"No, Clark, you can't do this!" she screamed, slamming her fists against his body again and again. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, Clark was going to die in her place and she just couldn't let him do it. Desperately she tried to draw them back to her. It wasn't going to work. She saw the strange glow behind Clark's eyes she had seen in Martin's. Yet she knew Clark was still there, still managing to keep control somehow. He grabbed her hand to stop her hitting him, holding it gently. He rubbed it across his cheek, kissing it tenderly. Any other time she would have been delighted beyond belief, but not now. Not when Clark was going to sacrifice himself to save everyone, including her.

"Never give up, Chloe," he told her, then began howling with pain.


	14. Chapter 14

Clark, despite his impressive hearing, could barely hear Chloe shouting at him. She sounded distressed, and for that he was truly sorry, but he'd given up his chance to ever comfort her again. He was concerned, though he was sure Chloe would be alright. Her strength had managed to see her (and indeed, him) through many hard times, and Lois and Gabe would be there for her.

Everything around him seemed so far away now. Instead he had turned inward. Whatever had been drawn into him was trying to alter him in some way, to turn him to their single-minded purpose. They were finding it difficult, and he felt they were disturbed by their new habitat. They'd only ever dealt with humans in the past.

Humans… he could feel what the lights were. Memories. Human memories. He could touch them as they could touch him. They were the memories of The Memento. No, Clark though after a moment, they were the memories of the man The Memento had once been. Each light represented a person who had been close to the man once, until they'd ended up put away in a box and forgotten. Clark could see the light that had once been Memento's daughter, the brightest of them all. She'd been human, a pretty little girl who's life had been tragically cut short as her heart failed. This was so long ago that no doctor could hope to help her. And no one had helped her father, who in his maddening grief had taken his own life.

Clark followed the trail of memory up to that point, but found he could go no further than that. For just a second a demonic figure flashed into his head, snarling at him, then it was gone. He'd only caught a glimpse of it, but he thought he had a fair idea of what it was. It was the boss the little girl had mentioned, the one who lived at The End of the Line. Where The Memento's domain ended, his began. He couldn't see how the man had become The Memento, and he was glad. He thought if he saw that it would break his mind. He had no more time to contemplate this however; the lights had finished their work.

It was like they had created a new eye inside his mind. He was looking down at the town from above, able to zoom in and look at people. Not just look at them; speak to them. Although it wouldn't be his voice they heard, he knew. It would be a voice that drove them to lose all hope, ending with them taking their own life. And he was now the vessel. This was all being done through him.

"No-one else is going to die," he said, unaware he'd actually spoken aloud. Picturing his parents in his mind, he found himself shown The Kent farm. He went through the walls as if he were only a ghost. His parents were there, to his relief, and both were unhurt. His father was holding mom in one arm and a phone in the other. He's trying to find me, Clark knew. Reaching out, he tried to touch his mother, to tell her not to be upset, but his hand went right through her. She never even responded to it.

He could feel the strange lights within him trying to assert control, and knew he couldn't risk staying any longer. With regret in his heart he pulled back, certain he would never see either of them again. He thought of his mother being left alone if his father's heart gave out. I'm sorry, he thought. I don't want to go, but I don't know what else to do.

There were a few stops he wanted to make. In truth there were a lot more – it was tempting to take a final trip around the town – but he didn't know how long he could stay in charge, and this was important.

Gabe was still alive. He was hurt – Clark could see he had bandaged his wrists – but the cuts weren't deep enough to be fatal. He was lying looking at a photo of Chloe when she was younger. Clark felt for the man. He just looked so lost.

"Chloe will be back," whispered Clark. "You'll take care of each other."

The next place he went to belonged to The Ross'. He knew Pete wasn't in town, and so he didn't have to worry about him, but he still wanted to check on the remnants of the family who still lived in Smallville. If one of them were hurt, there could still be something he could do for them. He would find a way, he resolved. As he entered, he saw he needn't have worried. Pete's dad had tied his children up as they sheltered the storm of sorts that had swept across town. Restricted as they were, they couldn't hurt themselves or anyone else. It must have taken quite an effort, but Clark wouldn't have expected anything less from that family.

Finally he checked out Lex's place. They were no longer friends but that didn't mean he wanted the Luthor dead. There was no sign of Lex at the mansion; Clark reasoned he was in Metropolis with Lana. He certainly hoped so - if Lana had come here she'd be in danger as well. It seemed unlikely though, and he didn't have time to check. Fighting back the pain he was feeling, pain far worse than the void had inflicted on him, he returned to his body.

The Memento was watching him closely. As Clark had figured, he was still as intangible as his nature, guarding himself from another attack. He also noticed the street was littered with tulips… they appeared to be raining from the sky. Chloe's favourite flower, Clark remembered. Is The Memento doing this, or am I? With one quick look at Chloe, he knew it was time.

"Clark!" bellowed a commanding voice. He saw Lionel emerge from the house, blood running down his cheek. He looked such a figure of authority that for a moment, Clark almost thought he'd been taken over by Jor-El again. "His power is over memory! You now share in that power. Think about the difference between what he is, and what he was!"

"You think it's over, Clark?" hissed The Memento. "You can't possibly be that stupid. There are no meteor rocks here, my friend, none of those little tokens – mementos if you like – of your dead home world. You can't die. All you can do is witness the deaths of everyone in town, and you'll be utterly powerless to stop it."

"Your father's still alive, Chloe," said Clark with an effort. The pain he was feeling made it hard to think, let alone talk. "He's alright."

He was pleased to see a little relief on her face. She didn't manage a smile, which was a shame, he thought. She had the most beautiful smile, and it was too bad he wasn't going to get to see it one last time. It was a smile that stood for everything The Memento's twisted grin did not. And it suddenly hit him. It was so simple he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it as soon as Lionel said it.

"I pity you," said Clark. The Memento raised his eyebrows. "I've never been human but like you told me, there's humanity in me. You have been, and now you never can be again. But you can remember what it was like."

Clark stepped forward. And began to blow, propelling the lights from his own body towards The Memento. They tried to fight it, but Clark made sure there was no way back for them. Memento's eyes widened as the lights began to enter his body. Even intangibility didn't stop them; they existed in a way that went beyond being physical. They were just memories given form, after all – and they needed somewhere to belong.

He could see The Memento gasping with shock, trembling as his short time as a human was relived in his mind. Remembering his daughter, his real daughter, not the twisted re-imagining he had created to live in the void. Tears filled his eyes and he looked at Clark with something approaching gratitude. Then he turned and looked at Chloe, to her surprise.

"Let them forget me," he said. "Let death be the end."

Turning to Lionel, he gave a small smile and nodded.

Lionel shot him in the heart with the gun The Memento had given him.

A week later, Lionel was surprised to see Lex drop by for a visit. He placed his newspaper on the table and smiled at his son.

"Lex, what brings you here?"

"I've been concerned dad," said Lex unconvincingly. "People have been commenting on how withdrawn you've been this past week. You've barely shown your face."

Lionel gave a quick chuckle.

"I don't think I'm ready to become a reclusive billionaire just yet, son. No, I've just been a little unwell, is all. But your concern is appreciated, as always."

He gave Lex no hint of the discomfort he felt at the moment. The Memento had shown him a mark of respect at least… but he'd spoken of Lex with something approaching awe. He knew Lex had a darkness in him, of course… but what on earth could be so bad that something as… evil, as Memento would be so interested? He didn't think Memento had really ever planned to hurt Lex at all, not even as a child.

Lex nodded at the newspaper on the table. It was open on another story about the suicides in Smallville. In total, some thirty-seven people had taken their own lives that night. Were it not for Chloe and Clark, Lionel knew it would have been much higher.

"I see the suicides are being blamed on some kind of cult," said Lex, looking keenly at his father. He suspects me, Lionel thought. He actually thinks I'm involved. "Still, at least for once no-on can pin this on Luthorcorp."

Yes, thought Lionel, smiling falsely at Lex. He definitely thinks I'm involved. Probably connecting it to his 'salvation' last year, when he found God. Crazy old Lionel, finding God and starting cults. Let him think that. The less he knows the better.

What are you becoming, Lex, he wondered as he poured his son a drink.

"Remind me why I'm doing this again?" asked Clark, struggling with the camcorder.

"Good grief, Clark," said Chloe, helping him with it. "You have the steadiest hands in the world and you STILL can't hold a camera straight."

"This really isn't my kind of thing, Chloe."

"I know. I'm grateful, believe me. I cut so many of my classes that I've fallen waaay behind. There's no way I could do this without your help," she said, taking his hand.

"But a report on agriculture? It's hardly your usual territory."

"True, but the whole Memento thing kind of put me off weird for now. Well, off some weird things anyway," she added with a smile directed at Clark. She ran her hand down his chest playfully. "Pete did suggest I do a report on Lap dancing clubs. Even offered to drive all the way just to help out."

"Well you know Pete, always willing to help a friend."

"C'mon, let's get this done. I'm eager to get back," she added looking at him meaningfully. "And did I mention my roommates are NEVER home?"

Clark savoured Chloe's smile as she slept next to him. He touched her hair, careful not to wake her. He wouldn't wake her for anything right now – she just looked so happy, so content. The whole thing with The Memento had been a tough experience for her.

That was why he almost hadn't told her when he'd found the article. Two days after The Memento had died, a man had been committed to Belle Reeve, complaining while in some distress that a little girl had walked into his home and started leaving him 'tokens' that reminded him of his dead wife. That wasn't the word Clark would have used. He'd have used the word 'mementos'.

But he had told her, because she deserved to know. There should be nothing between them, he knew. She'd looked at him and told him she wasn't afraid. She knew he'd deal with it.

Lionel had offered to use his influence to enable Chloe to write the story about the suicides. The story about the cult was something he'd made sure the press picked up on. He was pulling everyone's strings as usual. Chloe had refused. As a reporter she searched for truth, and wasn't about to offer up a lie. Although she had no intention of revealing the truth about what happened to anyone, he knew. The Memento's last words were to her, and she'd understood them. Just hearing about what he was had affected her life, and it was better he be forgotten than to ever touch someone else that wa. All the notes she kept on him in her journal had been destroyed. He'd burned them himself with his heat vision, just like she'd asked.

Wrapping his arm around her naked body, Clark kissed her softly. She moaned contentedly, but didn't wake. Her smile grew just a little wider. Clark looked forward to waking up to that smile tomorrow. Chloe Sullivan; more than a memory, now and forever.

And as Clark began to drift into sleep, he knew their best memories were still to be created.

END


End file.
